Someday, We'll Breathe Again
by Reminiscent Lullaby
Summary: The Agreste household has seemed to change for the better since Gabriel gave up the butterfly miraculous. But now, after twenty-two months without Hawkmoth, old and new enemies alike step out of the shadows to threaten the fragile peace and shake the Agreste family to its core. When the façades drop, nothing will ever be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go.**

**This is the last installment to The Beginning of Goodbye series. As of now, I'm planning on updating weekly. **

**I recommend reading Hold Your Breath and Hope for the Best before jumping into this. **

**I hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter One 

All the steady, quiet stirring in the house had settled into stillness once the day had traipsed from morning to the brilliant early afternoon. It seemed to Gabriel that he had glided unknowingly between a network of ceaseless and predictable action and a straight-edged microcosm blocked off from the rest of the world, the line separating which was only disturbed by a nearly undetectable breeze passing through the open windows in the atelier, generating the smallest sway in pale curtains.

Early June had a way of isolating the experience of living from life itself, and doing so with the gentlest of pulls. There was sunlight beating down on rooftops, dogs whose collars jingled with their strides, window panes reflected off hardwood floors, the fluttering of hair in a wind that seems especially cool simply because one has taken the moment to feel it. And then, there was him, who on days like this, watched the stretching and shrinking of shadows without taking notice of the passage of time. There was him, who paused in the middle of the room to listen to the muffled rush of sound coming from the restless outside, and whose mind would attach nothing to those sounds but the shapeless thought that this was the coming of summer, and in all this stillness, it could be coming forever.

Footsteps and voices and the opening and closing of doors had faded along with the golden glitter of a morning actively cascading from room to room. Surrounded by noise and movement, standing in an atelier percolated by life other than his own, Gabriel had managed a productive first several hours of the day. Silence and stillness and white afternoon light had now initiated a pause. His screen had been dark for minutes now, hiding a sketch of a formal jumpsuit that was still missing something. It was all quite forgotten now. The answer, he decided, might come later, when the earth began to turn again, when the house lurched back into orbit along with the city surrounding it.

Gabriel was hyper-aware of the little things, like the weight of his glasses on his nose and behind his ears, the warmth building along his collar, and, most of all, the dust that must have been coating the tops of books on shelves lining the wall behind his head. When all was suspended like this, Gabriel found himself appreciating the new life that had emerged in so many different forms. This atelier, for example, was different from the one that had for so long been the setting of his work. Rather than a tall gleaming portrait, those bookshelves loomed over his shoulder, dispensing a far less weighty stare than he had grown so used to - but, of course, for that irritating thought of the dust that surely needed taking care of at some point.

It was a smaller atelier than the one that had been left behind, situated at the back of a smaller house. Just a couple years ago, Gabriel would have balked at the idea of leaving the mansion, hardly able to step outside its door without feeling his skin crawl. So much of the life he lived had been built there, and so much of it swiftly lost. Moving was unthinkable - until the chains had loosened, and he could hear them rattle with the steps he had started taking into the future. Even more surprising was that he had the agency to unlock them.

Early June was when they had found this place. Last year, everything was moving too quickly for moments of stillness to last very long. The spellbinding nature of the late Spring, for all its humid, mundane glory was lost in the transition from house to house. Although, it was difficult to call that a loss, both because it went forgotten till it struck again and because there was too much else to celebrate. A new home, a new marriage, and to their surprise, those weren't the only circumstances to change.

Gabriel blinked and reached into his pocket. It took the buzzing of the phone in his jacket to nudge everything forward, and even then the movement was but a slight meander pressed along a gentle curve; for the house was still quiet, asleep.

A text from Adrien gleamed at him. _What time is dinner again?_

Giving a quick glance to the curtains still wavering in the faint breeze, Gabriel typed his response. _19:00. Will Marinette still be joining us?_

_Yes_.

_Has she mentioned what this is about?_

It took a couple minutes for Adrien to reply. In the meantime, Gabriel crossed the room and shut the window, silencing the faint city sounds. At last, he was careening back into a full awareness of the world. Then, his phone alerted him, _Hasn't told me. I'm trying to get it out of her_. Adrien added a moment later, _She has a talent for holding on to secrets._

Gabriel hm'd in amusement and put away his phone. He returned to his computer for a moment to bring the screen back to life and look over the unfinished sketch still waiting on the page.

It would have to wait a little longer. He had something else to attend to.

Gabriel traveled from the atelier through the long hallway that carried him to the house's front entryway, where the sunlight was strongest and a collection of small family and individual portraits hung over the staircase.

The photos had been Adrien's idea, who insisted to Gabriel and Nathalie as they were moving in that "normal families" tended to display multiple "reasonably-sized" photographs in "accessible" places throughout their houses, not "somber, gargantuan portraits larger than the floor space of most bedrooms." They really didn't take much more convincing. Adrien had won a couple battles over how to decorate the place, but he decidedly lost the campaign to convert the wine room into a cheese cellar. Of course, that wasn't really his fight, but the fist-sized kwami's who was still reluctant after all this time to speak with Gabriel and Nathalie directly.

That was always a reminder that life was not as pearly as Gabriel had tried to let himself believe.

He remembered how astonished Adrien had been when he first set foot in the place a year ago. His jaw slackened and fell open, green eyes sweeping over the foyer, over the staircase, a far less grand structure than the white marble steps he had climbed almost all his life. He had taken a couple moments to absorb everything, not even answering Gabriel's initial prompt as to how he was feeling.

Then, he suddenly turned to his father and said, "It's so _warm_."

Gabriel couldn't help but agree. He had been afraid he would miss the mansion's wide open spaces, its echoes and the chill of stone, but this house, with its smaller, closer rooms and its soft yellow lighting, had invited him in so quickly. He was so prepared to resist, despite this being his idea in the first place, prepared for the fantasy of wanted change to crack and shatter apart and leave him without a shell, but he found he didn't need one.

It was a pleasant surprise.

One of many.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor, looking over the photographs as he passed them by. Most of them had been taken in the last year, but there were a few from the mansion, including a young Adrien and Gabriel holding him by the shoulders, a photo of Adrien with his mother, and another of him in his fencing uniform. Some were even older. One, found in a box at the back of Gabriel's closet, depicted him in his early twenties, holding a tape measurer between his teeth and an unfinished gown in his hands as he stood before a beat-up old mannequin. Another was brought by Nathalie, one of the only photos she had of herself. She was about twenty, hair cut just above her shoulders and dyed a dark shade of blue, standing on a street corner wrapped in a winter coat, looking like she had just noticed the camera the moment in went off. Her lips were slightly parted, forming the beginning of a smile, her blue eyes round and glittering with recognition.

The highest photo on the wall was the newest: a little baby wrapped in a pale pink blanket, its mouth stretched open in a yawn. Gabriel smiled faintly and carried the smile all the way to his bedroom door.

He figured he would find Nathalie here. Recently, she tended to work from the second level, either from the bedroom or from the spare they used as her own personal office. She could never be torn away from her job completely. A new executive assistant hired a number of months ago had alleviated much of the workload she wasn't able to keep up with since Anaīs had entered the picture, but Nathalie was always keen on keeping busy.

Right now, however, as Gabriel found to his amusement, she was far from busy. She laid on the bed, her head propped up on a couple pillows, still donning her glasses as she slept lightly. When he stepped inside, her head shifted as though she heard him, arms slackening over the infant she was holding against her chest. Feeling the movement of her mother, Anaïs's legs kicked out. Gabriel approached the bed and drew a fingertip down his daughter's foot, watched as her toes fanned out in response.

"What time is it?" mumbled Nathalie, her eyes still closed. Gabriel leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then another to Anaïs's ear. The baby cooed. Her arm stretched towards Gabriel's nose, blue eyes fluttering open to search for him.

"A little after 14:00. Were you asleep long?"

"Oh, not at all." She stroked the baby's back. "And neither was she. I have to get her in her crib."

"Here, I got her." Gabriel took Anaïs in his arms, allowing Nathalie to sit up. She was smiling now, but there was something weary behind her eyes. There always was. Gabriel was certain that if he looked long enough in the mirror, he could find it in his own gaze. Maybe it was just because he knew her so well, but the fatigue on her face seemed to swim nearer to the surface.

She'd been through a lot. If a troubled history and magically-induced debilitating illness wasn't enough, then a rough pregnancy and complicated twenty hour labor had caused some substantial stress for the both of them. Anaïs's arrival had seemed to heal a lot of those wounds, or at least begin to. Nathalie beamed through that mask of exhaustion. When they brought the baby home, the first thing Nathalie did was cry out of joy. She threw her arms around Gabriel and whispered, "I have everything I have ever wanted."

Of course, with all that gratification came a rather intense fear of loss, a fear, Nathalie admitted to him, that she had never been familiar with until she had become a member of the family. It was a fear that only deepened as the months passed, a fear he knew all too well himself, a fear he tried to warn her against; but he would be coarsely lying if he tried to pretend it didn't still haunt him the way it was slowly and fiercely beginning to haunt her.

It was always best to remind her that he was there. Everything she had was with her, in no danger of slipping away. At times, he had to sleep with her wrapped completely in his embrace, so she wouldn't rise unless the baby needed her. Otherwise, he'd find, she might spend the whole night awake at Anaïs's side. She trembled all the while, cold and terrified, because at night, she said, she couldn't think straight. She saw everything through a screen of shadow, and so the darkness in her head became darker.

"What scares you the most, my dear?" he had asked her once. It was five in the morning. She hadn't been in bed since midnight.

"Memory," she had answered, her voice hardly audible beneath the exhaustion.

Nathalie rose out of bed and trailed after Gabriel, humming softly to herself, the tune of a lullaby he often heard her murmur absent-mindedly. He kept his eyes on the infant as she brought a tiny fist to her mouth, fingers curling and uncurling. He'd been here before, he tried to remind himself. Once, Adrien had been the one in squirming in his arms, the one whose cries filled the house and whose big eyes flitted from above rounded cheeks. But even with all the resurgence of memory, it was hard to believe that Adrien was ever this small, that this wasn't Gabriel's first time as a new father. Seventeen years felt like a lifetime, felt like an entirely different existence.

It felt impossible, how much things had changed. Surely, at least some of it was impossible, at least some of it was an illusion. He could understand a lot of Nathalie's fear; one wrong move and all of this could shatter apart, threatened by the turbulent journey that had led them here. It didn't always add up. There had to be a missing piece, something to assure him that he deserved this.

He laid the baby in her crib, and Nathalie's quiet hum turned to words. The vacant look in her eye as she planted herself by his side told him that the song was not as much for the baby as it was for her.

"_When we fall asleep,_  
_"I'll hold you in my arms,_  
_"and though the shadows keep,_  
_"my love, don't be alarmed._  
_"Someday we'll just pretend._  
_"Someday we'll dream again_."

She fiddled with the mobile above Anaïs's head, gently turning the rods so they drifted in a slow circle. Hand painted wooden stars twinkled with stripes of silver glitter.

"_And then we'll find the light_  
_"when the moon reveals her face,_  
_"but for this somber night,_  
_"we'll have to stay here in this place_."

"Nathalie," he whispered.

"_But darling, hold my hand_  
_"Someday we'll dream again_."

"Nathalie," said Gabriel once more.

"Yes?"

"I've always wondered where you got that song."

Trailing her fingers down her daughter's cheeks, Nathalie gave him a blank look. "I think my mother used to sing it when I was really little."

He blinked at her. "I'm surprised _you'd_ want to sing it then."

"Well, when I got older, I started singing it to myself. And to my sister when we were going to sleep." Nathalie smiled warmly as Anaïs's eyes drifted closed. "It's actually a...pleasant memory."

"You don't find the words a little ominous?"

"Not really, no. Besides, she can't understand me anyway."

He put an arm around her and kissed the side of her head. "I must not be very familiar with lullabies."

Leaving the baby to sleep, they returned to their room. Gabriel stood with crossed arms at the door while Nathalie straightened out the pillows she had been resting on when he first walked in. He told her, "Marinette is coming for dinner, after all."

"Is she? I'm surprised," Nathalie replied.

"By the way it sounds, it seems like she has some sort of agenda."

"Of course. She wouldn't intend to be around us for very long otherwise." Her tone was very matter-of-fact, punctuated by an unusually long pause that made her glance up at Gabriel. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Does that bother you?" she questioned, mirroring his stance. "It seems like it bothers you."

"That she doesn't like us?" He shook his head. "I have other things to concern myself with than the opinion of a teenage girl."

"A teenage girl who both is dating your son and knows more about you than the rest of the city's population combined? - particularly in regards to…" Her gaze darkened and dropped from his face to his feet, "...a rather troubling past."

"Nathalie…"

"Well, Marinette can hold onto her grudge as long as she wants. There's nothing we can do about that." Nathalie needlessly fidgeted with the pillows some more. "Can you really blame her? Everything she does is in the best interest of the city, and everything we once had done was actively disturbing it. I understand her not desiring our presence - unless she finds it necessary."

She noticed immediately that he had bit back a reply. It was his pride that made him hesitate, ensnaring him in chains she had the greatest power to break. All it took was a flash of her blue eyes, in them, a white-hot warning against the preservation of his ego and a softer, sweeter promise of understanding. It was like she was standing right in front of him, relaxing him with a simple clasp of his arm and a sympathetic smile. He remembered telling her months ago, the first thing that made him fall in love with her, "The way you make everything okay, just with your touch." He demonstrated by brushing his finger beneath her chin, making her grin. "You're simply magic, darling."

He released a sigh, and the chains dropped away. Crossing the room towards her, he admitted, "You're right, Nathalie. It does bother me, as much as I'd hate to admit it." He sat on the bed, and she placed herself beside him, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades and gazing at him earnestly. "As long as Miss Dupain-Cheng is treating my son well, then I shouldn't mind how she thinks of me. But it's almost been two years. I know there's a lot to forgive, but the circle of people who know the truth is...small. And close. Very close. It's difficult not to be reminded." He leaned his head against Nathalie's, closing his eyes. "I should count my blessings. The situation could be worse. Much, much worse."

She swallowed heavily. "Yes," she breathed, "We're very lucky."

"Do you ever feel…?" Gabriel set a hand on her knee, his words fading into quiet. He felt her head turn, felt her solemn gaze on his temple.

"What?" she murmured.

He didn't know what to say. A hundred questions had been flickering through his head, and he didn't know which one to ask. _Do you ever feel like we just don't deserve it? Do you ever feel like there was something we could do about it? Do you ever feel like it would have been better if we'd stopped sooner, before they knew?_ His jaw tightened. It was foolish for him to think he was capable of letting go without his fingers being pried apart. All this doubt, all this fear, it was his fault, and he couldn't hope for anything better when everything he already had barely felt like it belonged in his arms.

Ashamed of himself for the thought, he rose to his feet. The hand that had been on his back hung in the air for a moment. "Gabriel, love," she whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just -" He exhaled, linked his fingers behind his back. "You're right. We're lucky."

"Gabriel…"

There was a knock at the open door. "Mr. and Mrs. Agreste? I'm sorry to interrupt."

Breaking each other's intense stare, Gabriel and Nathalie turned their heads to regard Alain, standing with his tablet tucked under his arm and hands clasped together. He was the new executive assistant they hired before Anaïs was born - previously an apparel production coordinator - who traveled between the house and headquarters, wherever he was most needed.

"Alain. What is it?" prompted Gabriel, burying his unease beneath his clinical tone. He noticed Nathalie's facial expression collapse into neutrality. They rarely discussed their history with miraculous despite knowing how much in haunted them, but they still knew exactly how to quickly conceal the topic. She stood beside him, shoulders square.

"A couple things. The pre-production meeting this morning went smoothly, and I will have sent you my report by the end of the day," said Alain, adjusting his multiple rings.

"Excellent."

"And, secondly," he cleared his throat, "less important but a little strange. On the way out, I was approached by a young woman who claimed to know you two. She seemed about Adrien's age."

"Was she a classmate?" asked Gabriel.

Alain shrugged. "Possibly. She introduced herself as Lila Rossi. Does that ring a bell?"

Nathalie's reaction was similar to how one would react to realizing they had forgotten their wallet in a public place. She stiffened, fingernails biting into her arms and her eyes going wide with dismay. Half a second later, she had masked her shock, but Alain noticed.

"It is familiar, then." He cocked his head, eyes flicking between the two of them. "And judging by your reaction, this Lila isn't a person we like?"

Gabriel set his hand comfortingly on Nathalie's lower back. "No. She is a classmate of Adrien's. At one point, she was a friend," he lied. "But she's not a very pleasant person. They drifted apart. We actually haven't heard from her in a while."

"Funny, she didn't mention Adrien. Just you two. She claimed to have formed a friendship with the both of you a little over three years ago. She says she's familiar with a lot of celebrities and artists from around the world, and mentioned that she was your muse for a time," Alain relayed, an eyebrow raised at them.

"That's false," Nathalie replied, voice cold and sharp. "She was invited to partake in photoshoots alongside Adrien a few times, but that was back when they were friendly. We've never had anything but a professional relationship with her, and it was only for that short time."

Alain nodded. "Understood. I thought it was odd. She was waiting on a bench right outside the building, seemed to immediately recognize me though I've never seen her before. She even called me by my full name, was very friendly but I was a little put off."

"That's…" Nathalie glanced at Gabriel and then back. "Well, that's odd indeed. I'm sorry she bothered you, Alain."

"It's fine, I suppose. I would be troubled if this became a recurring incident. Is that something we'd have to worry about?" Neither of them answering immediately, Alain took out his tablet. "I'll just make a note of this. It's probably not worth fretting about now, but I'll keep an eye out."

"Thanks, Alain," said Nathalie, trying to smile.

"Yeah, sure thing, Nathalie," he replied. More formally, to Gabriel, who was not as receptive to the man's informal affability, he dipped his head, "Mr. Agreste."

He stepped out. Gabriel and Nathalie stood frozen in the middle of the room until they had heard Alain descend the staircase to the first floor. Nathalie went to the door and closed it silently, before looking back at her husband with a slightly alarmed gaze.

"Lila."

"Don't worry about her," Gabriel told her. He went to his lovely wife, brushed some hair behind her ear and rested his palm against her cheek. "That girl is no threat, you know."

"I just forgot about her."

"She's not worth remembering." He pulled her close to her chest. "Oh, my dear, we have too much on our minds already." He planted several kisses on her hair, and Nathalie pulled away so she could kiss him back on the mouth, fingertips pressed against his cheekbones. He smiled against her lips. "I love you, Nathalie."

"I love you, my dear."

He began to pull away, reach for the door to head downstairs and continue the day of work, but Nathalie's hand clasped his wrist. "I'm tired," she murmured. "Will you lay next to me? Just until Anaïs wakes up?"

Gabriel conceded. As Nathalie laid her head on the pillows that she had fluffed up again a couple minutes earlier, he unlatched a window and pushed it open. The sounds of June came fluttering into the room, cars and birdsong and a city that was alive and hot to the touch.

He kicked off his shoes and set his glasses on the bedside table. Nathalie pressed her body against his, head falling against his shoulder. Sunlight kept the room aglow, but she was asleep in a couple minutes, breathing softly, hand resting limp right against his heart beat. Her hair smelled like lemon and lavender, her clothes like the baby.

His eyes drifted shut. He never fell asleep, but he hovered there at the precipice, just conscious enough to never stop feeling the weight of her extraordinary touch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Posted a day early for my friend's birthday :P**

**The chapter I'm currently writing is taking it's sweet time. I hope I'll be able to stay on this weekly schedule. Hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter Two

"What time is it?"

"18:30."

"Oh, we should get going then, huh?"

"Yeah. I texted my bodyguard. He's on his - Marinette," said Adrien abruptly, dropping his phone on the desk behind him.

She didn't look up. "Hm?"

"What are you…?"

As his question trailed off, Marinette slid the box out of its hiding place and set it on the floor. Glancing up at Adrien, she shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I had a thought."

The corner of his lip twitched into a tentative smile. "Should I be concerned?"

"I would hope not. Since when have my thoughts ever been something to worry about?"

"Oh, right, you're a genius. How do I keep forgetting?" He winked at her, inspiring a light chuckle.

Tikki sat herself on Marinette's shoulder as the box was opened and seventeen miraculous were revealed. The kwami was silent, her eyes instantly on the jewels Marinette's hand went for a moment later. Adrien, sitting at his girlfriend's desk chair, leaned forward and raised his eyebrows when he watched her fingers close over two familiar brooches, miraculous that hadn't been touched for nearly two years.

He asked her, cautiously, "What are you doing with those?"

"Could you hand me my purse, please?" He didn't break her gaze as he reached for the small bag beside her keyboard and tossed it at her gently. Marinette, smiling, placed the two miraculous inside. "Thanks. Well, I'm sure you can guess, right?"

Adrien sat back again, and his eyes flicked momentarily to an equally uncertain Plagg who laid on his belly at the edge of the desk. Tiny arms dangled in the air, clutching a cheesy pastry from the patisserie below them, which he had been nibbling on for the past few minutes. Marinette watched the black kwami blink slowly at his holder, and then at Tikki, who subsequently released a small, sympathetic noise.

Finally, Adrien said, "Yeah, I can guess, but I can hardly believe it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Is this really about what I want to say this is about?"

"Yeah, probably." Marinette closed the miracle box and set it back in its hiding place. When her parents had asked where she acquired a gramophone, she'd merely answered that she had found it at an antique shop and bought it on impulse. "I just thought it would be cool to display," she had said. And, really, what other excuse could she come up with? A while ago, she had meant to come up with a more discreet hiding place, but she liked the old contraption. She sat it on an end table that also featured a couple old family photos gifted by her uncle in China, as well as a pink motorcycle helmet her grandmother gave her on her sixteenth birthday.

"Marinette, I'm confused," Adrien said, rising to his feet. "Are you...really going to offer them their miraculous back?"

Behind him, his lounging kwami inhaled sharply and choked on a bite of his pastry, causing three pairs of eyes to turn on him in alarm. As Plagg coughed himself a meter into the air, the rest of his food dropped onto the floor and spilled crumbs below the desk. He heaved to regain his breath, glowing green eyes staring widely between his holder and Marinette.

Tikki rolled her eyes. "Are you done being dramatic?"

"Excuse me, sugar cube, but that's what I call an appropriate reaction," retorted Plagg, panting. Then, he turned on his holder. "I always thought _you_ were crazy for considering letting your father and Nathalie, as you put it, 'prove themselves' like they didn't spend two years of their lives actively _proving themselves_ super villains!" He zipped now over to Marinette, who didn't flinch even as he hovered just a few centimeters from her nose. "And now Marinette, the _sensible_ one is starting to think the same thing? I may be the kwami of destruction, but I surely cannot be the only one trying to avoid chaos, right?"

"Look who's trying to be righteous," Tikki quipped. "You _stole_ that cheese pastry from the patisserie!"

"What was I supposed to do? Buy it with real money?"

"You at least could have asked."

"That's inefficient!"

"Guys," Marinette murmured, silencing both kwamis. Immediately, Plagg flew right back to Adrien's side, glaring. Sighing through his teeth, Adrien bent over and retrieved the dropped snack, sticking it between Plagg's waiting arms. Tikki took her place back on Marinette's shoulder.

"You know, Plagg," Adrien said as the kwami shoved the pastry into his mouth, "I hope you don't believe I haven't noticed your soft spot for Father and Nathalie."

"Pfft," he huffed, and then swallowed ("That he doesn't choke on," grumbled Tikki). "My personal feelings are irrelevant," he insisted. "I'm just trying to be judicious and responsible. Isn't that what you want?"

"It sounds more to me like you're trying to hold on to a grudge that isn't there," Adrien countered, crossing his arms and lifting his eyebrows. "You still refuse to talk to either of them without using me as a mediator, but you couldn't hide how excited you were for all of us about Anaïs, or how worried about Nathalie you've been."

"Whatever, that's all for your sake."

"If that's true, then why can't you forgive them when I already have?"

Marinette, who was waiting out the exchange patiently, suddenly felt a dull pang in her heart, like a string had been plucked and was now reverberating through her chest. Her eyes drifted from Adrien and Plagg to the open window. She could feel Tikki's eyes on her cheek, hear the voices of the two still lightly bickering ahead of her, and she chose to ignore them by crossing the room to that window. She took a deep breath. Still, the air was hot and fresh, and she took a moment to feel the warmth of a strongly angled sun on her face before she drew the window shut and turned away from it. The purse slung around her shoulder felt heavy despite its lightweight contents. Just her wallet and some chapstick and two brooches were clasped inside, but she might as well have been carrying them all.

"You're just too stubborn to admit you like them," Adrien was saying when she tuned back in a moment later, but she was facing away from them now, unable to see the glare Plagg was surely throwing Adrien in loo of a verbal response. After a pause, her boyfriend addressed her, "Marinette?"

"Is your bodyguard going to be here soon?"

"Yeah, probably in a few minutes." She heard him take a few steps toward her and then she felt his chin come to a rest on the top of her head as his arms wrapped around her shoulders. "So, now that others have shared their opinions on the matter, are you going to explain yourself, Bugaboo?"

She sighed, clinging to his arms. "I don't see what there is to explain. You've said in the past that you think your father and Nathalie deserve a second chance. I agree."

"I said that a year ago. Before they had a baby."

"You were rather insistent if I remember correctly."

"You do, and I'm sorry for annoying you so much, but things have changed." Loosening his embrace, Adrien turned Marinette around to face him, and she saw his mouth fall into a frown as she struggled to raise her gaze any higher than his lips. "I mean, you know that at least Nathalie isn't going to want anything to do with a miraculous while she has Anaïs to feed every couple hours. And I sincerely doubt we'll have any luck with my father, considering how tired he gets too - and how…" Adrien paused, blinking hard. "How it ended for him the last time. Really, how it ended for both of them. Back then, I thought I was hearing my father drop some hints, but I guess it's just hard to imagine that they'd ever turn back."

"I know, I just - changed my mind."

"It's not very great timing to change your mind," he replied. He tried to encourage her to meet his eyes by tilting her chin higher, but her gaze flew to his right ear instead. "Marinette, what's going on? Are you okay? Have I said something?"

She shook her head. "No. Of course not. I...well…" Marinette blew at her bangs and then took a step away, gathering courage. She finally raised her eyes to Adrien's and immediately felt her plastered smile soften at the earnestness in his eyes, green and delicate as the leaves fluttering on tree branches outside. She could see their movement, the way they studied her with patience and understanding.

Gratitude surged through her chest, alleviating some of the tension. It was nearly two years ago now since Marinette had felt that she needed to hide from everybody. Chat Noir had been her partner from the beginning, and a dedicated one at that, but they wandered through life with bare faces most of the time. Ladybug could always trust Chat Noir in a fight, trust that he believed in her, trust that he would protect her, but when their miraculous timed out, Marinette used to have nobody else but herself, her kwami, and the sparse guidance of a mentor who expected her to be succeed with what little he could do to help. And she did succeed. She didn't have a choice.

Marinette found herself grinning warmly at her partner. She understood why knowing his identity had been warned against, having witnessed her more vulnerable teammates be taken advantage of for the knowledge they possessed and the knowledge others possessed of them. It was fortunate she found out who her kitty truly was at the end of their prolonged battle with Hawkmoth; maybe it was even better that Hawkmoth had learned who it was he was fighting against. But being without a supervillain to face didn't make the burden of their secret much less daunting. Marinette and Adrien would be carrying their miraculous for years, and surely there would be more villains to face. Relief flooded through her body every time she remembered that she wasn't alone anymore. Adrien knew her. Finally, she relished, _someone_ knew her! And who better than him?

"Okay, here's the thing," she prefaced. She pressed her palms together and raised her finger tips to her chin, "I'm not actually planning on offering their miraculous back to them."

Adrien appeared vaguely confused. He said nothing, waiting for her to explain.

Marinette went on, "Well, I kinda am, but not really. Oh gosh, this sounds pretty awful, doesn't it?" she asked, the question aimed mostly at herself, but Tikki, who had already been made aware of the thought process, rolled her eyes, as if dismissing the necessity of the exclamation being phrased as if Marinette didn't already know the answer. "Adrien," she then said sharply, turning her attention back to the patient but still puzzled boy in front of her, "Did you know that your father came to me just a few months ago to ask me if I'd ever consider letting him have the butterfly miraculous back?"

Now, this sparked a reaction. Adrien's eyes flashed with surprise and his shoulders went rigid. Behind him, Plagg displayed a similar response, but he knew well enough to remain silent this time. "He - he did?" Adrien stammered.

"So he never told you."

"No, never brought it up." He scratched the back of his neck. There was no anger in his demeanor; that had melted away a long time ago, "At least not directly. He _asked_ you that?"

"Yes. It wasn't a very long conversation. He asked me that one question, and when I said no…" Marinette's voice faltered momentarily, "...he pretty much left it at that, apart from adding that he hoped I would change my mind."

Adrien stared at her, and then his gaze turned inward, becoming glossy and narrow. "I'm...I'm surprised. I didn't think he would ever...I mean, I knew _I_ wanted to see him…" He swallowed. "I knew I wanted to see him be a hero, but I never thought he might have been looking for the same thing. He was really worried for Nathalie and the baby for a while, but I figured that would have made him even more reluctant." He paused, and said to himself, "I wonder if he never told me because he didn't know if it was a good idea."

Marinette ran her thumb and forefinger up and down the strap of her purse. "Well, Adrien, that's what I'm struggling with too. If it's a good idea."

"It definitely isn't now."

"I know. Which is why…" She tapped her hand against the pouch, hearing the jewels clink together.

Adrien's brows pinched, eyes flicking up and down. "You're offering the miraculous to them so they'll refuse on their own?"

"Something like that," she sighed.

"Marinette. Why bother?"

It was a good question, a question that had been previously posed by Tikki days ago and now registered like an echo in Marinette's ears. The ladybug kwami hadn't expressed any desire to see the two former supervillains resurface as heroes, but it had seemed to her that Marinette was being needlessly manipulative. Marinette had balked at that. Deep down, but perhaps not so very deep, she knew it was wrong of her to back Mr. and Mrs. Agreste into a corner, to shut down an engagement that wasn't truly at play.

"I think you're paranoid, Marinette," Tikki had plainly said.

It must have been true. What did Marinette have to fear of the former holders of the miraculous that had been willingly given up? They were no threat to her, and certainly no threat to the city of Paris. It was an unnecessary precautionary measure where no caution was needed, and certainly no passive-aggression; yet thus was her intention. She groomed her mind for an answer, for some justification other than that she was afraid and she couldn't name what it was she feared, or that maybe, just maybe - and she was ashamed to even allow the idea to cross her thoughts, and so it didn't last long - she wasn't as forgiving as she had thought.

Yes, she decided. She was afraid, and fear only happened either because one didn't know what was going to happen next, or they don't know if they will survive what was coming. They'd all been a little frightened when Gabriel said he'd _do anything_ to help his ailing wife and their unborn child, and he only said it because he was scared.

But that had been months ago. Everything was fine now.

Marinette, assuming an affectation of mellow confidence, answered Adrien while turning away from him and fixing her hair in her vanity mirror on the wall to her left. "I bother because, as the guardian, I think it's important for me to be on the same page with those who have previously held a miraculous, about whether they ever expect to hold a miraculous again." There was a rush of pride at her own lack of a stutter. The words had flowed smoothly off her tongue, and a small smile tugged at her lips to shine back at her in her reflection.

Adrien joined her in the mirror, using it to gaze pointedly into the eyes she had turned away from him. "You could just ask them."

"That's essentially what I'm doing." She fidgeted a little with her hair-ties, and, just to make her hands complete something of consequence, removed her pig-tails and fastened her dark hair with only one band. Two short strands by her temples hung loose. "Look, there's nothing wrong with not wanting anything to be left up in the air, right?"

"Right, but I thought the issue was already settled. You told my father you couldn't consider giving the miraculous back." Adrien's voice hitched at the end of the sentence, and Marinette blinked. "What more needs to be said?" he then asked.

"I don't know, Adrien," she admitted, smoothing her hair. "I just - I just have a feeling that everything _isn't_ settled. I told your father no. But now, I need to hear it from him. From both of them."

Her chest tightened upon watching a shadow fall across his face, and he tore his eyes away from the mirror, glancing instead towards Plagg, who watched the exchange with an expression Marinette could only describe as outrageously judgemental. And Tikki, she knew, couldn't have looked much more sympathetic.

In a hurt and startlingly low voice, Adrien wondered, "Don't you trust them?"

Guilt climbed up her throat and emerged breathy and meaningless. Marinette knew how defensive and sensitive Adrien was about his family. Attacks of any severity made against them by anyone were met with either a passionate retort or a long and troubled glare. She sighed, feeling awful, and then she realized that the question may have been directed towards Plagg just as much as it had been to her. She recalled the dispute that had occurred between him and Adrien just minutes before, and the thought settled upon her once again, less like a feather on skin and more like a stone wedged between bones, that truly, she was unforgiving.

Adrien's phone vibrated on her desk. He checked it, and said, a little coldly. "My bodyguard's here. You ready?"

And thus, their conversation could not continue. They sat together in the back of the car, and all Marinette could think to do was rest her head on Adrien's shoulder in apology. When his arm fell snugly around her shoulder, Marinette decided she had permission to believe that he had accepted the gesture for what it was, but such only made her feel cruel for the resentments she still carried, and the fears she used to justify them.

They arrived at the house - which was situated much further from the patisserie than the old Agreste manor - just before 19:00. The long hours of daylight ensured the sun still glowed in deep yellow across the brick facade of the place. Gabriel stood at the front door to greet them, hands positioned behind his back as was characteristic of his stance, his glasses, like the house's tall windows, reflecting the light and obscuring his scrutinizing eyes. It wasn't until Marinette had walked past him into the house that she could see that he watched her with suspicion. Still reserved as ever, he was. It was almost hard to believe that he had called Marinette just months prior to subject himself to be humbled by a then 16-year-old girl who he anticipated, and she later proved, to be a strict judge of his character, but no stricter (she could tell the humility with which he had come) than himself.

Gabriel had lightly patted his son's shoulder in greeting before walking in after them and shutting the door. From there, they traveled to the living room, where Nathalie joined them with the baby. Adrien, at once, took Anaïs off her hands, exclaiming a bright, "Hey, Baby Girl.". Marinette was certain she had never known a boy to love his sibling more than Adrien loved Anaïs. The child was merely six weeks old, and for the first half of that time, Marinette had hardly seen him. At school, all he could manage to talk about was the baby. Anything else bored him immensely. Marinette found it endearing, of course, though a few of their friends quickly developed the tendency to roll their eyes when Adrien pulled out his phone to show the photos of his sister he'd taken the night before. Happily for them, his fever was ebbing, but his love died by not even a single flame.

"Marinette," said Nathalie, leaning on the arm of the chair her husband was seated in. Her lips were drawn into a polite smile, but her gaze was less kind. "How is school?"

It was a generic question and Marinette could expect nothing else. She scarcely knew Nathalie and perhaps felt comfortable claiming that she was more familiar with Anaïs than the wife of Gabriel Agreste. Though, she certainly knew more than the Parisian public. Nathalie's was a face almost anybody keeping up with the fashion world would recognize, representing the _Gabriel_ brand whenever the man himself denied anyone the enjoyment of his physical presence. But she? Nathalie herself was a book yet unopened, conspicuous like an ornate dictionary, unknown like she was composed in a language foreign to most.

Marinette could read very little of her. Almost everything she knew was made up of what Adrien could tell her, which as of late, had not amounted to much more than what concerned the baby. She had only ever independently spoken with Nathalie once in the last two years, a month or two after the butterfly and peacock miraculous had been returned to her. Marinette had offered to teach Nathalie how to create the potion that healed her illness, so she could take it whenever she felt she needed it. They'd talked very little beyond Marinette's instruction, and the question as to how her recovery was going was answered with a brusque, "Mostly fine."

She was a melancholy woman, and that was putting it conservatively. For many months, Marinette had been troubled by the memory of a late-night encounter with Nathalie's supervillain counterpart, Mayura. An initially tense but civil conversation devolved into violence as Mayura's despair had revealed itself in the face of Ladybug's rigidity. She soon came to realize the circumstances of such an intense desperation, but Marinette was certain, Nathalie had to be haunted by the pain that once clutched her heart and body. She always looked tired, dull, and she'd looked that way long before the baby had entered the picture to make it finally seem like those things weren't worth any anguish.

"School is great. I'm doing well," Marinette answered vaguely, and it sufficed. She scooted across the sofa, nearer to Adrien, and smiled at Anaïs. The baby clung to Adrien's shirt and then released him to raise her tiny hand towards Marinette. Marinette supplied her index finger for Anaïs to take. She yawned. Her eyelids fluttered mildly.

Conversation continued between Adrien and Gabriel for the most part, while Marinette and Nathalie both remained relatively silent. They migrated to the dining room once the meal had been served by the kitchen staff, made up of Jacques and Ruby, a lovely older married couple that Marinette had once bonded with over the topic of pastry. Nathalie disappeared briefly to feed Anaïs and put her in her crib before sitting with them. Once the cooks had left them, Plagg zipped out of hiding and took the wedge of Camenbert Adrien had requested be added to his plate and disappeared again.

"You can have some of my dessert later," Marinette whispered to Tikki, sharing some of the space in her purse. When she looked up once more, she met Gabriel's eyes. Trying to remain dauntless, she said, smiling, "My kwami enjoys sweets."

Gabriel looked like he was going to speak, but he thought against it, choosing to nod curtly and sip at his white wine instead. Beside him, Nathalie had caught on to something, but she did not speak either. Briefly, her blue eyes landed on the lapel of her husband's jacket, but there was nothing there to see.

Dinner was more pleasant than the frosty gathering that had taken place in the living room, with both Marinette and Nathalie participating in the conversation more frequently. Adrien prompted Marinette to tell them about her most recent commissions: a couple scarves, some pins, a cropped turtleneck sweater for Rose, and the unfinished emerald satin dress displayed on the mannequin in her bedroom. Gabriel took interest, he asked about her technique, and her favorite kind of item to create, to which she responded, dresses. She planned on designing and sewing her own wedding gown in the future, and pairing it with the jewelry passed down from her mother.

They could hear the cooks moving through the kitchen, the running of sink water and the rattling of pots and pans against countertops. Aside from her relationship to Adrien, the miraculous were the only things tying Marinette to the people sitting across the table from her. That, and a long history of strife. On one end, a life on the line; on the other, a city. Explosive tension being buried for the sake of keeping all four of them anonymous and unshaken by the blasts. Marinette wondered if outsiders could look upon them all together, and notice how similarly they wavered, feeling quaking of the earth that the rest of them seemed to have forgotten about, like aftershocks pulsing out from a realm of space only they could walk.

After a dessert of chocolate orange cake, Jacques and Ruby cleared the table when everyone had finished eating, and beside her, Marinette could sense that something had changed. As she stared ahead, looking between Gabriel and Nathalie while their mundane conversation continued, she started to feel the heat of Adrien's gaze on her cheek, felt it coming in waves as he glanced to and fro. When she turned to regard him, she noticed his shoulders had risen, and his left hand twisted his miraculous around and around his finger under the table. He'd realized, then, what was coming. He knew his girlfriend wasn't one to try and spoil a lovely evening before they'd enjoyed the lot of it (or at least pretended to). Marinette was sensible enough to wait until there was nothing much to spoil but a stretch of minutes spent doing nothing, and now that dinner was over, that time had come.

She reached for his hands and squeezed them, finally met his eyes and smiled through the feeling of guilt forming a pit of the contents of her stomach. Resignation darkened his face, because she wasn't going to change her mind.

"Marinette," he sighed.

"What's going on?" asked Nathalie, setting down her glass of water. Both teenagers whipped their heads to look at her. She smiled faintly at their wide-eyed expressions. "It looks like you have something to say."

"Um -" Adrien swallowed, dropped his stare. "Marinette has something to ask you."

Gabriel's hand fell over his wife's, and their fingers linked. Neither of them spoke, both eyeing the pair across from them with uneasiness. Marinette stalled, fist clenching her purse, wondering for a moment if they anticipated what she was about to ask them.

"Well," she said, and Tikki bounced out of the pouch to take her place on Marinette's lap while a hand reached inside to pull out the miraculous. "I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. I've been putting a lot of thought into this recently. I know it's been a long time, a lot has changed. Which is why I want to know…"

Her eyes flicked to the door leading to the kitchen, and certain that Jacques and Ruby were busy cleaning, she set the two miraculous on the table, side by side. At once, Gabriel and Nathalie had a reaction, both stiffening in their seats, held hands tightening, but neither of them immediately said a word.

"I want to know if either of you would be interested in taking these back," Marinette declared. Both Tikki and Plagg rose above the table to watch. Adrien stared at the brooches silently, his elbows on the table and hands hovering just beneath his nose.

Once the shock had faded, Gabriel's brow sank in confusion. He examined Marinette's face sternly.

She prompted, "Mr. Agreste?"

"Where is this coming from? We haven't touched those things in nearly two years," he said, voice cold. The response puzzled her. She looked between the butterfly brooch and his unfriendly countenance. He tilted his jaw up, taking on a clear contrast from the man who had come to her in humility not very long ago.

She frowned. "Didn't you say…?"

A chair scraping against hardwood urged her silence. All eyes went to Nathalie as she rose very quickly from the table, pulling her hand away from her husband's.

"Nathalie?"

She smoothed her blouse. "I don't - we don't-" She was fixated on the miraculous, face a little pale with alarm, her whole body going quite stiff. Gabriel pushed his chair away from the table slowly, and then stood. He was watching her fretfully. At last, Nathalie blurted an emphatic, "No."

Marinette blinked at her, and then she scooped the brooches back into her palm and dropped them into her purse. "I'm sorry, I...I didn't mean...I only meant - I wasn't going to -"

"Wasn't going to what?" Gabriel questioned pointedly. His glare shifted to his son. "What's this about, Adrien?"

The boy beside her hadn't moved a muscle, but now under his father's demanding scowl, he leaned closer to Marinette. "She's just trying to gage your guys' feelings about the miraculous," he said calmly.

"Why would you ask?" Nathalie growled, and Marinette was surprised to see her angry. "Why would we want them back? What good would that do for us? Don't you think we have other things to worry about than -" She checked her volume, glancing towards the kitchen door - "_that subject_?"

"I know," Marinette murmured, looking down at her hands. "I know you do."

"Nathalie, are you alright?" Adrien asked.

"Fine."

"You're shaking, darling," Gabriel chimed in.

"I'm _fine_," she snapped, and her voice seemed to drop the temperature in the room. Marinette listened to her footsteps as she stormed out. She announced, hoarsely, "I'm going to check on the baby."

A crisp silence descended over the room once she had left them and settled into Marinette's skin. She grimaced at the pins and needles in her scalp, a cold and sharp sensation that had her flattening her hair against the side of her head. A few seconds passed, and Gabriel turned on Marinette. "I have questions."

"So do I."

"Haven't you already made up your mind?" he asked first. Then, he remembered Adrien was still in the room. He swallowed heavily. "Son."

"I know you've asked her," Adrien said, "to have the butterfly back. Don't worry about it."

"I didn't ask for it back. I asked if she'd ever consider giving it back." He pushed Nathalie's chair back under the table. "And she said, _no_. So what the hell is going on right now?"

"I'm just trying to make myself clear," Marinette murmured.

"_What about that was clear_?"

"Oh my gosh, I don't know!" She admitted, tossing her hands in the air. Tikki made a small sympathetic noise and drew close. "I don't know what I'm doing. What I want is to keep everything in check and everyone on the same page. I don't know why you had asked me if I'd ever give it back to you. I don't know if you really took me seriously when I told you I wouldn't. I wanted to hear it from _you_ that _you_ didn't want it."

Gabriel looked unsatisfied with her clumsy explanation. He gripped Nathalie's chair hard enough that his knuckles turned bone-white. "Is it because you don't trust me?"

She held his challenging stare. "Maybe."

This didn't upset him as much as she thought it might. There was even the slightest dip of his head, and the softening of his cool, gray eyes, like fragments of ice breaking. "I see."

"Father," Adrien said gingerly. "Why _did_ you ask?"

He pursed his lips, turning his head away from them, boring a hole into an empty space on the wall. He spoke with strain. "I'm not comfortable with things the way they are."

"What does that mean?"

He barked, "It means I'd rather not go through the rest of my life with the memory of Hawkmoth in tow - not if that memory is of a monster." He didn't give either Marinette or Adrien the chance to reply. He released the chair and made for the door. "For the record, Miss Dupain-Cheng, despite that, I'd have said no for my wife's sake. If anything I've said troubles you, you should know she's in a worse place than I am."

"I didn't mean to upset Mrs. Agreste," Marinette assured him.

He'd paused in the doorframe, glaring back at her. "I know. You know better."

And then he went. Adrien and Marinette glanced uneasily at Tikki and Plagg.

"I could have handled that differently," said Marinette.

"Yeah, probably."

"I didn't expect them to be so upset." She clasped her purse shut, the miraculous secure inside. "Had I known that it was such a sensitive topic, I wouldn't have bothered. Really, I swear."

Adrien smiled reassuringly. "Marinette, it's okay. I didn't expect that either, particularly out of Nathalie."

"I should have listened to you."

"Well, to be honest." Adrien picked at his fingernails, eyes on the door where his father had just vanished. "I hadn't known that was how he was feeling about all of this. Now, I'm kinda glad I do. And, you know, Marinette, I get where he's coming from, not wanting Hawkmoth to be remembered as a monster."

"It'd be pretty hard to change that, don't you think? If he even had the chance."

"So, you'd never consider it, really?" Adrien asked her. She had risen at this point and walked to the window to gaze out at a dark purple sky. "You said you might not trust him. Do you really think he'd defect?"

"No! Of course not. I just don't think he should be rewarded." She spotted Plagg in the glass, watched him nod. "Plagg agrees. And so do they. It's not what either of them think they need right now. So, please, can we leave it at that?"

Adrien walked up behind her and, sighing, wrapped his arms around her waist. They gazed at their dark faces in the window for a moment, and then through the glass, at the deep pink horizon showing through the buildings across the street. He kissed her cheek. "They're my family, m'lady," he reminded her softly. "I'm standing by them. But I trust you too, to make the right choices. Master Fu wouldn't have left you the guardianship if he wasn't confident in you. I know you're trying to do your best."

Marinette's eyelids fell and she gazed solemnly at her feet, quiet.

They left soon after, Adrien insisting that he drive home with her just to spend a little more time with her. Gabriel was mannerly enough to see them out the door, but he offered nothing else than a terse nod of his head.

About halfway through the ride, the bodyguard grunted and pressed on the breaks. A wall of red light washed over the car: traffic backed up through at least two intersections. Marinette and Adrien squinted ahead, trying to see what was going on.

"This is weird," Adrien remarked. "It's, like, 20:30. What's happening? Was there an accident up ahead?"

As usual, his bodyguard did not answer, but sitting in the middle of the street with vehicles flanking them on all sides, he wasn't able to move either. He pulled out his phone to check for any information. Adrien and Marinette did the same.

A moment later, the bodyguard gasped.

"What is it?" asked Adrien, leaning forward and clutching the back of the passenger seat. He was handed the phone. Under the blood red glow of tail lights, Adrien's skin paled. His eyes bulged. He shook his head. "No way," he murmured under his breath.

"Adrien?" Marinette prompted, tugging at his shirt. Hand trembling, Adrien passed the phone.

On the screen played some news footage, silent but clear, displaying an intersection presumably ahead of them. It was enclosed by four brick walls, at least ten meters high.

"What on earth?" Marinette muttered. "How did those get there?"

"Watch…" Adrien told her.

And just as he spoke, Marinette saw it. A figure at the corner of the frame. She crouched on top of a street light, overlooking the cars all aimed in her direction. A staff of sorts laid across her shoulders, while tall ears and a tail formed of fabric wrapped around her waist flapped in the evening wind. Dressed in bright orange, she was immediately recognizable.

The footage zoomed in to focus on a sneering face and sly, olive green eyes.

Marinette looked up at Adrien, dumbstruck, incredulous, horrified.

"Volpina," they said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Marinette reached into her purse and pulled out the butterfly miraculous. She stared at it, let its weight press into her palm and convince her of its reality.

"Those walls are an illusion," Adrien announced. His voice sounded distant; her blood was roaring in her ears. "It's Volpina. Nothing she makes is real."

"We need to get home," Marinette said under her breath. She returned the miraculous to her purse, made sure of the peacock as well. There was no reason to, but she checked anyway. "We need to get home _now_." _The fox miraculous_, she mouthed to Adrien.

"We're still over a kilometer away." Adrien was frantically trying to position himself in a way that allowed him the best view out the windshield. "And I think there are _bigger problems_ than getting home right now." He tapped his ring out of his bodyguard's line of sight. Then, he said, "I think I can see the wall."

Marinette's mind raced. How, _how_ had Lila Rossi gotten ahold of the fox miraculous? It was in the box when she had opened it earlier than evening, and there was surely no way it had fallen out - and even if it had, how did Lila obtain it? She would have had to be in Marinette's room. She would have had to know who Marinette was!

Her teeth clenched. Of course, someone had discovered her secret identity and snuck into her room to retrieve miraculous power in the past. But he wouldn't have been able to do it if he didn't already have a miraculous and the accompanying kwami to aid him. It was simply unfathomable that Lila, Lila fucking Rossi was wearing the real fox miraculous right now. Truly, Marinette would have sooner believed that the butterfly miraculous had been fished out of her purse, that the girl had been akumatized instead.

She reeled, realizing how long it had been since she and Chat Noir had faced a miraculous threat. Panic surged through her lungs, a momentary fear of being too out of practice, too comfortable in a city that had lapsed quickly right back into normalcy. It was a city that had just as quickly learned to live amidst the ongoing battle between their super-powered peers, and to be used as pawns in that same game. Maybe they had all become too complacent, believing to have outlived their enemy only for a new one to rise in his place. But Marinette wondered, what difference did it make to them? Her fists opened and closed, eager to hold the fox miraculous safe in their grasp. They didn't know how worried they really needed to be.

Adrien's hand clasped hers tightly, and when she glanced at him, he gave her a determined smile. She tried to return the look.

"It'll be fine," he whispered. "We'll take care of it."

Fear was sullying her tenacity. They were far from being unprepared. It may have been nearly two years since they had confronted an akuma, and even longer since that akuma was Volpina, but Ladybug and Chat Noir were wary enough to keep their skills sharp and themselves present. Hawkmoth and Mayura were long gone, disappeared, as far as Paris was concerned, into a cloud of smoke, but the city's heroes were not going to follow them into oblivion. They were still here; they won, or that was what was to be believed.

But Marinette chewed on the inside of her cheek as it occurred to her that all of Paris might consider this another akuma attack. After months and months of absence, Hawkmoth was emerging from the shadows to strike down the victims that had become unsuspecting.

Her heart pounded. She had the urge to jump out of the car, dive into an alleyway and transform to knock those walls back into the nothingness from which they were erected. However coarsely her previous concerns had been laid to rest, a part of her had been enjoying the relief that slowly unwound through her troubled head. And now this, and now _Lila_.

She had opened her mouth to suggest to the bodyguard that Adrien could walk the rest of the way on foot, make up some lie that her parents were dying to have her home and they had no clue how long the roads would be backed up, when someone, at last, made contact with the walls. Adrien watched them vanish on the phone screen, and Volpina took off as well to cause more trouble elsewhere. No doubt, her goal was to attract Ladybug and Chat Noir's attention, and Marinette imagined her antics would only worsen until they had arrived on the scene.

Her leg bounced as she waited for traffic to move, but with how long the lanes had been backed-up, it felt as though ages were passing. Her mother had time to call, to ask if she was alright, and to hesitantly hang up when Marinette assured her, despite her ruffled tone, that there was nothing to worry about. Beside her, Adrien's phone started buzzing as well, and though Gabriel's steely voice was audible, his words were impossible to make out over the rumble of the motionless car and her own heart beat.

"I don't know, Father," Adrien murmured, and after a pause, "She doesn't know either."

Marinette clung to his arm. She willed traffic to move.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it will be taken care of," Adrien said, glancing at his bodyguard, whose strong brow was lifted in bewilderment in the rearview mirror. "The problem is we're stuck right now."

She brought a fingernail to her mouth to gnaw on. Her eyes squinted against the red lights blazing through the windows, growing stronger as the sky deepened in darkness.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine. We'll - _they'll_ work it out." He blinked rapidly. "Why would you think that?"

"What is he saying?" she whispered.

Adrien was quiet as he listened. She tried to lean closer to the phone, but she still couldn't make out exactly what Gabriel was saying. She recognized Nathalie's name, and she was pretty sure she also heard the name of that new assistant they hired a while ago - she'd only met him a couple times - but everything else escaped her.

Then, her grip on Adrien loosened as he jolted in his seat. "She, what?" he exclaimed. His bodyguard stared at them, alarmed.

"What is it?" Marinette asked him.

"Why would she…?" Adrien trailed off, listening once more, and then, slowly, his face darkened, eyes sharpening. Marinette wondered if she would feel his gaze like a stab through the chest was it turned on her, but luckily, he was fixed on empty space, and all she could sense was a chill zipping through the air into her bones. "How long were you going to wait to tell me that?" he muttered into the phone, voice dangerously calm. As the seconds wore on, his expression grew only more enraged. He sat back in his seat and deflated. Something had struck him. "We'll talk about it later. We have _something else_ to worry about right now."

He hung up without another word, jammed the phone into his pocket, and raked his fingers down the side of his face.

"What?" Marinette asked, voice small enough to hear as no more than a tiny breath.

His eyes darted to the driver's seat. "Not now."

A minute later, there was visible movement ahead of them. The car inched forward. Someone honked in the distance. There was a moment of calm before Marinette was overcome by impatience. "Let's go," she hissed under her breath. The car rolled, it accelerated. She dug her nails into the back of the driver's seat. And then the red lights flashed violently. The car jerked to a stop.

"What now?" she yelled, but right as she spoke, she could see it. The buildings lining the street ahead of them were trembling like an earthquake had broken through the city, but the car remained still, and its occupants even more so as they watched what was unfolding. Drivers and passengers abandoned their cars as rooftops and facades crumbled, hurling towards the ground, towards the street, towards all of them.

It wasn't real. It was an illusion. But that was easy to forget when slabs of brick and wood and steel were raining from above like boulders from a vindictive heaven. Empty vehicles appeared to be crushed, the sounds of grinding metal and shattering glass firing through the night. Those who couldn't manage to escape on time found themselves unharmed, the buildings looming above them still in tact. But it was all happening so fast, and those closest to the supposed danger couldn't make the discernment. The streets were crawling with pedestrians in just a couple moments, all of them seeking safety. A young girl, no older than nine, shouted for Ladybug and Chat Noir as she ran hand-in-hand with her mother right past their car.

They weren't getting anywhere now.

Adrien unfastened both his seatbelt and Marinette's. "Let's just get out of here," he told his bodyguard. "You head back to the house, check on my father and Nathalie. I'm taking Marinette home."

There wasn't time to argue. They all lunged free and took off. Seconds later, a piece of debris smashed through the hood of the car.

"It's fine!" he shouted. "It's fine!"

They burst through the door of a building that appeared to be falling apart - a very small café that had been abandoned when the people inside heard the threatening tremors above them. Tikki and Plagg flew out into the open once the door had slammed behind them.

"What the _fuck_?" screamed Plagg.

"Volpina?" squealed Tikki

"What does she want?"

"Is she alone?"

"I thought we were done with that pest."

"How did she get the fox miraculous?"

"We'll find out," Marinette said, looking to her partner for reassurance, but he didn't meet her eyes. He glared out the window, fists balled at his sides. "Adrien?"

"Let's do this," he growled, stepping back. He ran a hand through his hair and exclaimed, "Plagg, claws out!"

"Tikki, spots on!"

They launched themselves back outside and took to the sky. They landed on a rooftop above the wreckage, watched as they made contact how a broken chimney repaired itself and a dented truck below them suddenly looked good as new.

"Well, she's got our attention," Chat Noir said, twirling his baton in anticipation. "Where is she?"

"Chat."

He surveyed their area, and finding nothing suspicious, turned his head to regard her stonily.

Gently, she wondered, "What happened on that phone call? Something upset you."

He shook his head and chuckled, lowering his eyes. "Oh man," he grumbled. "I really thought everything was out in the open. I really thought there was nothing left to hide."

Apprehension gripped her. She took his shoulder. "Chat Noir…"

"They were working with her," he spat. His green cat-like eyes flashed with indignation. "They were working with Lila. Of course they were! Why does it make so much sense?"

Ladybug stiffened. "Oh," she said.

"They used her to get people akumatized. They knew she was a shit-stirrer and a liar and they used her." His teeth set in a hard scowl. "But that's not what's making me so upset - they did a ton of stuff they regret, and I've forgiven them for all of it. I'm mad because they _never told me_."

"Wait - did she know their identities?"

"I…" Chat Noir blinked, his mouth hung a jar for a moment. "I don't know. He didn't say. I-I don't think they would tell her. Not before they would have told me." His voice cracked and he looked away at once, sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

"Chat Noir." She moved her hand to his face, gently running her thumb right beneath his flaming eye. "You have every right to be upset. We'll talk to them later. For now, let's take care of Volpina."

"No problem," he said gruffly, ready to follow her lead.

Before either of them could move, all of the wreckage beneath them disappeared. Gaping holes in walls were sealed. Shards of glass scattered across the pavement like snow was swept up and blown back together into the windows of cars, which sat unharmed in the crowded street below them. A few civilians had been wandering about the disarray, unsure of what to do, and now that everything had been fixed, they released shouts of surprise and confusion.

"Keep on alert. She can only create one illusion at a time. She could try something new at any moment," Ladybug said, spinning her yo-yo.

Almost nothing remained of sunlight now. Streetlights and illuminated windows shone pale yellow through the darkness. Ladybug could still see quite clearly, but there was no telling what lurked in the shadows.

Chat Noir spoke once more, close to her ear. "We should approach my house."

"Your house? Why?"

"On the phone my father told me that he and Nathalie feared Volpina might seek them out."

"If that were true, why would she have bothered with those walls?" said Ladybug. "Her goal was to draw us out."

"Lila asked about them earlier today," he answered. "She approached Alain outside headquarters. I don't know what she asked about, but they're worried for a reason." He spoke dejectedly; every detail in his face seemed to hang lower than unusual.

Ladybug ran her fingers between his ears. She'd have preferred to check on her own apartment and ascertain the status of the miracle box, but her heart ached for her partner, and she acquiesced."We'll start making our way there, then. Hopefully we run into her before we get too close."

They bounded back the way they came, stopping only briefly to help disoriented citizens find the car they had left behind, or ask them if they had seen anything unusual since everything had reverted back to normal. In the night, every figure moving at the corner of Ladybug's eye could have been Volpina, but lamp light revealed their innocence as soon as she jerked her head to look. Even in motion, she felt as though she was being watched, that a shadow lingered at the corner of her vision, and she couldn't blink it away.

"Do you feel that?" she wondered. "Is it just me?"

Chat Noir was staring over his shoulder. "No, it's not. Something weird is going on."

They stopped a block from the house. From their vantage point crouched on a high stone wall enclosing the yard of a nearby manor, they could see the bodyguard as he arrived. The gates opened for him and promptly slammed shut. They could not see who it was the opened the door for him from their angle, but Ladybug thought, as she glanced at her partner, that maybe that was best if they kept out of view. Just looking at the house, he seemed melancholy.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet," he muttered.

"Not anywhere, it seems."

"I figured she'd have shown herself again by now."

Ladybug shivered. There was a stroke of ice down her spine, like a pair of cold eyes had raked themselves down her body. She drew herself nearer to Chat Noir. "I feel like she's here."

He combed his eyes across the street, and then through the yard. An eye twitched. "There's nothing."

"It's been minutes. What is she waiting for?"

A faint breeze ruffled the ends of their hair. One of her ribbons teased his cheek.

"I don't know."

And then, a dark voice startled them both to their feet. "Looking for someone?"

Before Ladybug could register its sound, she expected to turn around and be face to face with Volpina, staring into her smug green eyes while she whirled her instrument about her fingers and grinned with cruel satisfaction. But when her vision settled on the person behind them, her blood went cold to find that it wasn't Volpina at all, but a total stranger. Just a few paces over their shoulders loomed a man, about as tall as Chat Noir beside her (who in the last couple years, had grown nearly to Nathalie's height). Narrow lips were pressed together in a reproachful frown that failed to meet the man's emotionless eyes, which, to Ladybug's unease, were shiny and black like those of a bird. They glared at the heroes from behind a mask that covered all but the lower quarter of his face. A thick leather vest and wide-legged pants composed his outfit, but most unusual were the great black wings that took the place of his arms, dangling towards the stone surface of the wall as he stood with them calmly at his sides.

Ladybug gawked. This man looked like a miraculous user, but whatever miraculous he wore was certainly no miraculous she had ever seen before.

"Who are you?" demanded Chat Noir, recovering from his shock to lift his baton threateningly. With his free hand, he grabbed Ladybug's shoulder and walked them both back several steps, but the stranger only made his way forward, though never so much as to drift any closer to them than he was when they first turned around. They hadn't even heard him.

"A friend," replied the man. One of his wings touched the ground, but his feathers didn't bend. They clicked mechanically and kept their shape. Ladybug realized that they weren't feathers at all, but blades. Hundreds of black blades arranged to look like the wings of some great bird, or some dark angel. "That is," he went on, "if you were so kindly to help me."

"Help you?" Ladybug echoed. She whirled her yo-yo before herself.

"I'm in need of some tools." Lightweight black boots ticked against the stone. Chat Noir halted right behind her as their ceased to be any more wall to walk upon. The stranger paused as well. He turned over his wing, revealing the underside of human arms and hands tucked beneath the wings. He held up his right hand and flicked the ring finger. On his wrist was a black chain bracelet. Ladybug widened her eyes. _A miraculous_, she thought, _it must be. But not one from my box!_ Then the stranger tapped the side of his head, where his mask covered his ear.

"No," snarled Chat Noir. "You're not getting our miraculous."

Ladybug recoiled as the stranger disappeared, blinked away like a dream behind the eyelids, and then, a moment later, he materialized once more, his face a mere inch from Chat Noir's. Her partner yelped and nearly toppled off the wall.

"I know you two must enjoy not having any supervillains to worry about," he rumbled, his voice rising like a roar of thunder out of his throat. "Which is why I am willing to be patient enough to negotiate this peaceably. Why fight an ongoing war that can be ended before it begins?" There was something familiar about his inflection, but Ladybug couldn't name what it was. She remained sturdy. She glared with venom.

"Nothing?" asked the stranger, looking between them. His eyes were so black that their movement was hardly visible. His mask protruded out from his nose and came to a point, like a fine black beak.

"Where…" Her gaze flicked to his wrist. "Where did you get that miraculous?"

He inspected his bracelet. "This? Well, shouldn't you know? I think it would pair well with that ring on your cat's hand, there. And with your earrings." His lips twisted into a smile. "Would you like to see what it can do? Try to take it."

Ladybug didn't budge, but Chat Noir's hand released her shoulder and lashed through the air with such speed that it should have caught the man's wrist - but he was gone. _Again_. And then, he was far across the wall. The blades on his wings fanned out like real feathers. In the distance, he was a spot of living shadow.

"What-?" Chat Noir exclaimed, fist clenched over empty air.

The stranger cocked his head. "Enjoy that? There's more."

They watched as he, quite literally, vanished into a cloud of smoke, the mass that had formed his body dissipating into blackness, like ocean mist crashing against the shore. They ran forward, taking stance halfway down the wall, back to back as they waited for him to return.

"Who is he? _What_ is he?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of that miraculous. I know there's more than the nineteen, but-"

"I thought the rest were destroyed!"

"They were all restored. But they should be in Tibet!"

"What the hell is it doing _here_, then?"

Chat Noir flinched against her spine, and she turned to watch him hurl his baton at the stranger, who had reformed just ahead of him. He blinked away once again, and reappeared just as quickly in the same spot. The baton soared.

And then, right at the edge of the wall, it was caught.

The newcomer walked right through him, shrewd olive eyes bright with the glitter of mischief. She tossed the baton from hand to hand, sizing up the heroes now bristling at her appearance. Behind her, the stranger re-materialized, grinning.

"Thanks for pinning them down for me, Conspiracy," Volpina said. "I'm sure you three have had the time to get to know each other."

"What the hell is your game, Lila?" Chat Noir demanded. Ladybug could practically feel the wrath emanating from her partner, like heat from a flame.

"I know it's been a while, but to refresh your memory, it's Volpina to you," she responded.

Ladybug couldn't tear her eyes away from the pendant dangling from her enemy's throat. The fox miraculous. The real fox miraculous. "I won't even dignify you by calling you by that name," she snapped.

"What happened to the kind and compassionate Ladybug Paris knows so well?" asked Volpina. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, considering how brutishly you chewed me out the first time we met. A shame, we could have been such great friends." She tossed Chat Noir's baton over her shoulder, and it clattered against the ground somewhere in the distance. She pulled the flute out from beneath her arm. "Anyway…"

"Whatever it is you're trying to do, you can't get away with it. We know who you are," Ladybug shouted.

"So you do. I suppose you can also prove this isn't Hawkmoth's doing?"

She tensed. Chat Noir's aggressive stance softened as the challenge hit him like a blow to the chest. His face paled.

"You don't know what happened to him, either." It wasn't a question. Volpina's gaze had darkened and she tapped her fingers against her flute. "Guess you're my problem, now. Mine and Conspiracy's."

The man above her shoulder scowled.

"Like his powers? I didn't even know there _was_ a raven miraculous. You kept that one hidden from us."

Raven? Ladybug shook her head. She rotated her yo-yo and stepped forward. "Back down. Now. Or you'll regret it."

"Sure I will." Volpina brought the flute to her lips, and its fluttery music rang out. Ladybug tossed her yo-yo, intending to latch it over the weapon, but Volpina leaped into the air, and it passed right through Conspiracy instead, who glitched and reappeared in the yard.

The yo-yo returned to Ladybug's grasp just as Volpina hurled her illusion in their direction. She expected a flock of screeching birds or a duplicate of herself and Chat Noir, but then -

A bright light exploded and Ladybug's vision went white.

She could feel Chat Noir grappling for her, his gloved fingers pressing into her back and her arms. Ladybug crouched, feeling for the stone surface beneath her as she tried to blink the light out of her eyes. _It's not real_, she told herself, _you're not blind. You're not blind._

And then, a hand brushed dangerously close to her earring. A pinch at her earlobe made Ladybug shout, and she knocked the hand away. She sprung backwards, colliding with Chat Noir, and the two of them plummeted off the side of the wall.

Her vision started to return once they had landed in the grass in a heap. Spots of darkness flitted through the air as she struggled to regain her sensibilities in full. Chat Noir lifted her to her feet. She could make out the green of his eyes, and then the rest of his face.

"Chat Noir-"

Suddenly, he tossed her back to the ground. Volpina launched herself in their direction, grabbing Chat by the arms and bringing him with her as they rolled sharply for the earth. He grunted as she pinned him in the grass. Ladybug's yo-yo wrapped itself around her waist and yanked her back, but Volpina wouldn't release him. She fell on her back against the wall, her arms shaking as she tried to keep Chat Noir's wrists in her grip. Ladybug pulled at her waist again, earning a frustrated scream from the girl, but she dug her feet into the grass and wouldn't move any closer.

Conspiracy flashed into a view a mere few inches from her side. Ladybug gasped and fumbled her string in surprise. He lifted one of his great wings and swung it at her head, narrowly missing as she leaped out of the way, firing herself over the other side of the wall and into the street.

Those wings certainly didn't move like they were made of metal. Ladybug was gripped with horror when she thought of what one of those blades was capable of if they had made contact. Slit her throat? Decapitate her? Her stomach turned. What kind of _weapon_ was that? Blood ran like ice-water through her veins as he sailed over the wall and landed with grace in front of her. He was elegant. He was weightless. He was like every other miraculous user, yet somehow, she had never been more afraid of one.

"Where did you get that miraculous?" she demanded, cursing how her voice trembled. "I want answers this time!"

Conspiracy's eyes narrowed into slits of black ink. He charged at her, and every dodge of those wings sent a stab of terror into her chest. She couldn't get far enough away to call on her Lucky Charm, not while he could simply reappear at her side every time she tried to put distance between them. And how was she to get ahold of his bracelet if it was hidden by a shield of blades?

Ladybug kicked her leg through the air, and Conspiracy passed around every blow, moving with ease even she envied. Whoever was behind that mask, he seemed to have experience. Years of it.

She struggled to keep up with him. This was nothing like training with Chat Noir, who she _begged_ to attack more viciously. Nine times out of ten, she had bested him within a couple minutes, because he could never bear to land a decisive strike. Fighting Chat was easy, fighting Chat was barely exercise - her thoughts wandered to him for a minute as she worried how he fared against Volpina on the other side of that wall in that poor family's front yard, which she would never have the chance to repair if she couldn't find the opening to shout her magic command - fighting Chat Noir hadn't prepared her for this. She feared it hadn't. She could never get the best of Hawkmoth, only outside intervention managed to save them from defeat. As for Mayura, Ladybug considered the woman's failing health the only reason she hadn't literally killed them. Two Aprils ago, she had her head bashed into a window and a rock nearly miss her frontal lobe.

They'd been lucky with their former enemies. Ladybug hoped her fortune hadn't run dry now. She threw punch after punch, all of which Conspiracy dodged, whether because he ducked away or evaporated into smoke. His hand appeared suddenly an inch from her ear, and she dropped, slipping under his legs and rising quickly to her feet, her yo-yo clutched so tightly in her hand that her fingers ached.

She heard shouts. Volpina and Chat Noir in the yard. A flash of light as she created an illusion, another as it was dispelled a moment later. Conspiracy spun to face her, his upper lip peeled back to reveal straight white teeth.

"Finished yet?" she asked him, trying to tame her panting breath.

He blinked, then was gone.

Ladybug looked around her shoulders to see nothing but empty space. Her fingers pinched her earlobes, protecting her miraculous from the hands that might reach out of nothing to take them. Her eyes darted across her surroundings. She searched for any strange shadow, any movement in the dark or fault in the light.

He was gone half a minute before she glanced at her yo-yo, and taking one last look around her, launched it towards the stars.

"Lucky Charm - ah!" she yelped as his wing clipped dangerously close to the string of her yo-yo. She yanked it back into her grasp just as the newly-formed object materialized in the sky. She sprung back on her hands, then rushed forward again, trying to grab the lucky charm before it hit the ground, but it bounced in her palms and then tumbled onto the asphalt.

Glass shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. It had been a hand-mirror, and it was useless to her now.

He lunged for her, seeming to leap out of a fold from space, and he had come so close to raking one of his feathers down her side that the only way to get away from him was to fall. Conspiracy descended. With a resounding crash, his wings clawed into the asphalt, effectively trapping Ladybug beneath him. She froze.

Their bodies didn't touch. There was a fair bit of space between them thanks to the impressive span of his wings, but the feathers spread out in such a way that there was no gap wide enough to escape out of.

"_Shh_," Conspiracy hissed. His wings enveloped her view of her surroundings. All she could see was metal and his face, his dark, frigid face. Then, the textures of his wings, his outfit, and his face softened into smooth shadow. Ladybug held her breath as she watched him disappear into his own body, until nothing but blackness caged her, like she had closed her eyes to be greeted by the emptiness behind her eyelids. She could barely see his eyes, just the smallest glint of pale light reflected within their soulless depths. This was a dream, a nightmare that she couldn't wake from. He spoke again, though his lips, wherever they were, didn't move. "No one can see us now."

"Get off me," she murmured.

"Don't move." There was the scrape of a metal feather against the ground and an ache in her teeth. "Hand over your earrings, and I'll let you up."

First, she felt the subtle tremor of the ground against her spine, dull enough to ignore if not the distant roar swelling in her ears a moment later. She turned her head. Tiny gaps between his blacked-out feathers revealed the world beyond his cover. She could see how the road sloped out of view just past the next couple buildings, and the first glimpse she got of change came in the form of headlights rising from below, two shining lights as pale as the faintly yellow moon setting in the west as the night deepened. Ladybug gasped. She looked back, searched for Conspiracy's eyes.

"I can wait," he said. "It's no problem of mine. But you might want to consider the price of your survival."

Ladybug wanted to spit in his face, wherever it was, but fear paralyzed her. She stared wordlessly.

"What will it be? I remind you, we're invisible. And time is fast running out."

She could hear the car coming. Loud and only louder.

She hardly recognized Chat Noir's "_Cataclysm_!" beyond the wall.

Hardly recognized the crash of crumbling stone.

Yet the car still came. Her panicked breathing eased for a second, and she thought, _How strange…_

"Well?" barked Conspiracy, impatience slipping into his tone.

She blinked at him and looked for the car. It was awfully close now. Loose pebbles quivered madly.

The mirror's shards reflected the headlights and beamed like broken stars.

_Of course_. She smiled.

Right as the car ran over the glass, Ladybug heard the pop of a tire, and merely meters from where they laid on the street, the blinding headlights died. The car vanished into the air, leaving nothing in its stead but an empty road and the ruined lucky charm, which hadn't been ruined at all.

Conspiracy growled in rage at the failure of the illusion. His shadowy form lifted away, the wings dislodging from the ground with a heave of effort. Like a thick plume of smoke he took to the sky and rematerialized on what was left of the wall. Ladybug jumped to her feet, spotting her partner, who had retrieved his baton, locked in a close fight with Volpina amongst the wreckage. She threw the yo-yo, wrapping it around Volpina's calf and yanking her onto her stomach. She screeched furiously.

Chat Noir bent down to reach for the necklace, but Volpina swung her flute and struck him in the nose.

"Give it up, Volpina!" Conspiracy shouted. "Another day."

She panted, trying to free herself from the string with feverish desperation. Ladybug was gaining.

Another tune blown into the flute created a second disorienting flash of light.

By the time their vision had cleared again, both Volpina and Conspiracy were gone.

"Where did they go?" hollered Chat Noir, swinging his head from side to side.

"We'll see them again," Ladybug told him. After tossing the handle of the broken mirror into the air and sending her ladybugs around the scene of the fight, she slipped her hand into tried to give him an encouraging smile, but she was all too shaken from the encounter.

"I sure hope we don't," spat Chat Noir hotly. His cheeks were flushed, his breath labored.

"I didn't know," she whispered, "how much anger you harbor towards Lila."

He looked surprised, and then ashamed, his eyes drifting away from her. "I…" Cat-like pupils narrowed to thin black scars in pools of emerald. "I can't make excuses for her. I can't understand her malevolence. She hurts people for no reason and expects them to take it. It's a sick joke - Lila and _my family_?" He inhaled sharply and turned his head in the direction of his house. "I need to go check on them."

Ladybug touched his face. "Text me when you see they're safe." She spun her yo-yo. "I need to go check on the miracle box. It - it's probably gone."

"What does it mean if it is? Does Lila know your identity?" he asked.

"She can't possibly," Ladybug breathed. It was all still too strange. She wasted no more time. She waved at Chat Noir and swung through the night in the direction of the patisserie. As Marinette, she burst through the door of her apartment, beared the hugs of her worried parents, and wrenched herself free as soon as possible to rush up the stairs. Her heart raced. Tikki groaned nervously right by her ear.

Marinette practically flew into her room. Tikki hit the light as she ran to the table where she kept the gramophone, which, to her amazement, still sat among the family photos, and her helmet was there as well, apparently unmoved.

She dropped it onto the floor and clicked the proper buttons, holding her breath as the lid of the contraption slid open.

Tikki sunk into Marinette's lap, a weary sigh escaping her.

Her phone started buzzing. Marinette fished it out of her purse, along with the butterfly and the peacock miraculous. Adrien was calling her. She stared at the screen, stared at his image, his smiling face and gentle eyes, and herself beside him, their faces pressed together. Happy.

Eventually, her phone went quiet. A moment later, she received a text letting her know that his family was safe.

Numbly, Marinette stared at the butterfly and peacock miraculous in her palm. Their jewels glinted cooly in the lamplight. She had nowhere to put them.

The box was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Nathalie's eyes were glued to the TV. Such an intense focus absorbed her that the rest of the atelier seemed to fade away. Pale gray walls, rows of books, and framed art pieces slid into some distant dimension, leaving nothing but her, the monitor, and the space between them.

The mayor's voice was crisp in her ear. "We should be ever-grateful that Paris's heroes have not turned their backs on their city in the last twenty-two peaceful months, but rather have made a practice of interacting with its citizens and assuring them of their safety. In the prolonged absence of akuma and sentimonster attacks, the hearts of all Parisians have not lost their tenacious spirits."

"Madame."

Nathalie, at first, did not remove her gaze from the screen. It took the repetition of her title to make her glance to her right, where she found Ruby standing with a cup of green tea.

She took it with a nod of thanks and looked right back at the TV without taking a sip.

"Anxious, Madame?"

To speak seemed more effort than it was worth. Nathalie's breath passed through her lips without forming a response.

Gabriel, who sat on the opposite end of the couch, filled her silence. "There was an altercation only a block from the house, Ruby. We are both a little on edge."

"Indeed. I will leave you be." She placed her hand on Nathalie's shoulder in comfort, but when the woman only tensed under her touch, she drew away swiftly and quitted the room.

"You look like you're going to drop that," Gabriel said once she was gone.

"...regarding the attack made last night by what I am now hearing were _two_ supervillains. Not one, but two supervillains were present." The mayor looked to his left and nodded to something off screen. "Ladybug and Chat Noir, the floor is yours. You may step forward to the podium."

He moved aside, and the pair of heroes replaced him. There was the flashing of cameras and a roar of applause that seemed to Nathalie to last far longer than necessary.

Gabriel had scooted closer until they sat knee to knee. He removed the cup from her hands. Her fingers ached; she curled and uncurled them absent-mindedly. Gabriel set the tea on the coffee table. She could feel his eyes on her while she stared at the TV screen.

Ladybug's initial address was brief and vague, a reprise of the mayor's, a promise of her and Chat Noir's resolve to defend the city from whatever major evil may befall it. Chat Noir tagged on a couple sentences of reassurance, his demeanor absent of the usual charm and humor so characteristic of him. His eyes flicked blankly from face to face that watched him from the other side of the camera.

"Ladybug, can you confirm whether last night's attack was the result of an akuma from Hawkmoth?"

In the half-second before Ladybug responded, her blue eyes assumed a certain gloom that Nathalie would not have noticed did she not know the truth herself. Panic flared up through her body, and Gabriel's hand closed over her own.

"Yes," Ladybug answered, her tone devoid of all emotion. "It is as Miss Rossi says. She was akumatized by Hawkmoth."

Nathalie was light-headed, her chin dropping a centimeter towards her chest. She reached for her tea and brought the cup slowly to her lips. As the drink traveled hotly down her throat, the next question flowed forth with a stifled echo, as though it was being asked in another room.

"Ladybug, what do you make of the second supervillain?"

Even less readily than before, the heroine responded, "We don't know-"

"Come on…" whispered Gabriel under his breath.

" -but based on what we have seen, we have reason to at least suspect he was a sentimonster."

This was the lie they had hoped for. Gabriel sat back against the couch while Nathalie took another long sip. The drink was still too hot for her to consume comfortably, but it was difficult to mind the mild burn at the roof of her mouth when she was beginning to feel her body go numb. One hand trembled as if the cup was too heavy for her to carry. Gabriel still clasped the other, but his touch felt awfully faint.

"Does that coincide with Miss Rossi's interpretation of the events?"

"Miss Rossi claims not to have any recollection of what had happened after she was akumatized," answered Ladybug, "just like every akuma victim. She could not tell us."

Standing at her shoulder, Chat Noir crossed his arms in front of his chest. His brow hung low, his lips slightly parted to reveal clenched teeth. Severity deepened as Ladybug gave her composed replies. Silent as he was, his indignation read clearly. He did not even try to conceal it. As the conversation continued, Nathalie failed to take her eyes away from him.

"Ladybug, do you or Chat Noir have any idea why Hawkmoth and Mayura disappeared for so long?"

"No."

"Ladybug, have you or Chat Noir had any encounter with Hawkmoth and Mayura since the last akuma attack nearly two years ago that the public is not aware of?"

"We have not seen them."

"Why do you think Hawkmoth and Mayura went silent for so long, and why would they attack again now?"

"We don't know."

"Ladybug, Chat Noir," came the next question, "at any point since Hawkmoth and Mayura have made their first appearances in Paris, have you had any suspicions about their civilian identities?"

Nathalie _hated_ how they hesitated. Had she felt she had the strength, she might have thrown her cup at the screen. It should be easy for them to say no. They shouldn't have to even think!

Ladybug's silence lasted long enough for Chat Noir to answer for her, "No," he growled. "We have not the slightest clue who they might be. It's as much a mystery to you all as it is to us."

She dropped her cup onto the table. It landed upright, but some tea leaped over the rim and spilled across the glass surface. Gabriel tried to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn't remain still. She shivered. She dragged her hands down her face. She sighed heavily into her palms. And she didn't know what to do.

"As of now," Chat Noir went on, "we are operating under the assumption that Hawkmoth and Mayura have taken up their original goal. Until we have more information, that is all we can say."

"Do you think there is a possibility, given the hiatus of twenty-two months, that there is a new Hawkmoth and Mayura?"

"Seeing as the victim went by the same name as she did when akumatized the first time, I don't see a reason to believe that." His tone was short and robotic as Ladybug's had been, but to whoever had asked the question, he shot a venomous glare. Even through their cat-like screen, Nathalie found that furious light familiar. Guilt settled deep in her stomach, a remnant of what had come to life the night before.

He'd come through the door de-transformed, Plagg sailing for a hiding place as the bodyguard emerged from the living room to greet him. He told them Marinette had made it home, that everything was fine, the problem taken care of, and rather hastily, the bodyguard was dismissed for the night.

Their conversation had taken place in the atelier, none of them calm enough to sit. They asked him if he was okay, and he asked them the same. He had chosen to call Marinette, but she didn't pick up the phone, nor did she immediately answer the subsequent text. Gabriel and Nathalie were anxious to know what had happened, and it was the mention of Lila's name by Gabriel that seemed to spark something within Adrien, something hot and deep and hurting. He blitzed through his recollection of the fight, utterly uninterested in providing any details about this raven miraculous holder despite Gabriel's constant prompts for more information.

"Did they say what they wanted?" Gabriel demanded, raising his voice.

"Our miraculous, Father, what else?" Adrien spat back. Nathalie knew they hadn't breached the source of his anger. Adrien was seething with a hundred unanswered questions, and it was killing him now that this incident was delaying them.

"Do they even know what they can do?"

"You found out, didn't you? I'm sure all it takes is asking a kwami a few specific questions."

"Where did he even find a raven miraculous?"

"I don't know!" yelled Adrien, and then his eyes darted up towards the ceiling. He remembered the baby. "I don't know," he repeated, quieter. "Look, we'll figure it out, we'll do our best. But I need you to explain to me…" As his words drifted off, a recognizable shyness possessed him, and Nathalie found herself staring at a boy of fourteen or so, who used to be too frightened at times to ask for his father's attention, who used to dread breaking the delicate balance in the moments they could look at each other in the eyes and smile. He'd grown so far past that person and his sad, endearing timidity, just as Gabriel had grown, at least somewhat, out of his cool abrasiveness. For a number of seconds stretched out through silence, Nathalie looked between the two men in the room, and saw them as they had been years ago. Had the curtains been open to reveal the dark window and her reflection upon its glass, would she have seen herself in that same light: passive, observant, and utterly silent, secretly wishing for peace that had long felt out of reach?

She'd prayed then, that it wasn't slipping away from them.

Nathalie could hardly listen to the questions Ladybug and Chat Noir were having thrown their way, all of them, seeming to her to be irrelevant and sensational, like everyone had forgotten what it meant to be under attack by supervillains at a distance. She wondered how they could possibly forget. She wondered if she could blame them if they had. At times that's all she wished she could do.

But as she learned last night, forgetting could be dangerous when others still remember.

Adrien's courage returned, and he'd asked, trying to sound calm but stern, "I need you to explain why you never thought to tell me you were working with Lila."

Gabriel blinked, his gaze cold. "Adrien, can we discuss this at a later time?"

"No, I want to know now," his son replied. "I want to know everything about her that you never said two years ago."

"_Lila Rossi _was never a priority of ours," said Gabriel, sneering at the name.

"She had a talent for causing chaos," Nathalie offered. "It was useful to us."

"Yes, yes, I know you _used_ her. And I perfectly understand why." Adrien placed his hands on the back of a chair and leaned over it. His kwami was hovering by, having retrieved a wedge of cheese for himself upon the bodyguard's departure. He didn't look at either Gabriel or Nathalie, choosing to fix his narrow eyes on his holder. "What I want to know is why you never told me."

"Adrien, please, take a breath," Nathalie told him.

"We never thought to," Gabriel answered. "Does that suffice? When all of this came to light, neither one of us thought of our affiliation with Lila to be an important detail, not amongst the concerns of our identities or our motivations."

"You never thought to? Never?" he challenged. "I get not bringing it up while you're showing me my mom's body -"

"_Adrien_."

He flushed with shame, but pressed on meekly, unable to look at them. "...but you never thought that some time in the last two years that you should have explained the rest of it to me?"

Gabriel growled, "What is there to explain? Do you need me to go into detail about every single akuma I've ever made, too?"

Nathalie placed a hand on his arm, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"It's like you don't know how much of a problem this is," Adrien shot back. "I tried to give Lila a chance. I was civil with her for months, and that whole time she was intent on hurting Marinette, hurting my other friends, hurting anyone that didn't buy her lies. I should have seen it sooner that she doesn't care about anyone but herself. Father, she manipulates and threatens and humiliates people for her own entertainment. And now that I know she agreed to aid terrorists solely out of animosity for Ladybug? She doesn't care who she hurts. She doesn't care at all."

Gabriel had nothing to say. He stared down his son from across the room, his hands held stiffly behind his back.

"And you knew that," Adrien added. "You used her to hurt Marinette. To hurt all of my friends, anyone you didn't think was worthy of me, and then you expected me to interact with her and act like her friend to hide the fact that the only reason you kept her around was to be your puppet."

Nathalie took a step towards him. "Adrien, love, please. You know that we regret this."

"You didn't regret it enough to think of telling me." His eyes glistened with tears, but his voice remained strong, accusatory, and worst of all, disappointed. "This entire time, I had thought, I had hoped you'd been sitting around just waiting for someone to feel angry. But it makes sense, that scheme you pulled on Heroes Day…" He shook his head. "I should have known about this. We weren't supposed to be keeping secrets from each other anymore. We were supposed to be telling each other everything. We were supposed to trust each other."

"We do trust you," Nathalie insisted.

He paused and watched her wordlessly as she approached him and took his hand.

"Adrien," she whispered, "We're sorry. You're right. We should have told you." His blonde hair was quite disheveled, and she smoothed it out, fearing for a moment that he would avoid her touch. But he remained where he stood, glaring into her face. "Will you say something?"

"I feel like it sounds silly to ask now," he muttered, as she pulled her hand away, "since I was able to forgive you for everything else, but...how much time did you spend finding ways to actively upset my friends?"

If Nathalie hadn't been shaken enough after the events of that day, the defeat in his voice was nearly enough to bring her down. She kept on her feet, however, grounding herself on the same arm chair he held on to.

"And as villainous as Lila is in her own right," he continued, now looking over her shoulder at Gabriel, "how could you just _use_ a child for your own gain? You encouraged her behavior. You rewarded her for it by giving her the opportunity to attack Ladybug and to spend time with me. Look at her now. Look at what she's done."

Gabriel's eyes widened in fury. "What she did tonight was not our fault!"

"I - I didn't mean that, I just mean - you shouldn't have worked with her!"

"We've done a lot of things we shouldn't have done," Gabriel snapped. "This is no different."

"Gabriel," Nathalie murmured softly, drawing her husband's pale blue gaze. "He's right."

"I know, I know he's _right_. Adrien, I'm sorry," he finally said. The apology was rough coming out of his mouth and did little to soften the tension in the room. "But I refuse to take responsibility for the girl's actions tonight. That was entirely of her own volition."

"I'm not accusing you of working with her _now_," Adrien protested.

"She tried to reach us earlier today," added Nathalie quietly. She had almost let the encounter with Alain slip from her mind, but as soon as she had seen the orange-clad figure on the news, fear had resurged through her body like ice water, drew a quivering exhale from between her lips like a breath in the cold.

Gabriel had caught something in her tone, something too dark, too apprehensive, and his anger faded to ember. He stepped towards her and held his hand out. "Nathalie, my dear," he said levelly, "this is not our fault."

"She was looking for us for a reason."

"We did not cause this." His arm wrapped around her waist. "Do you believe that?"

Before she could reply, Adrien's phone chimed. The heat in his face drained away, leaving him pale and stricken.

"What?" asked Nathalie gently.

He stared at his phone in disbelief through several agonizing seconds of silence, before he turned the screen to face them. "They're all gone," he told them. "The box is missing."

Nathalie blinked the memory from her eyes and slipped her knuckles under her glasses to wipe away what was left of it. As she released a small shudder, Gabriel took the remote from the corner of the couch and shut off the TV, cutting off Ladybug's final address to the crowd. He rubbed gentle circles into her back as she collected herself.

"He's still furious. You could see it in him," she muttered. "What have we done?"

"We've done nothing," he said. She leaned over her lap, setting an elbow on her thigh and holding her chin up on her hand to glance at him. He watched her gravely, like she had spoken, but she hadn't. Perhaps, he had managed to read her thoughts anyway. A moment later, his gaze hardened, becoming steel.

The house was quiet. It was but the two of them, Ruby and Jacques in the kitchen, and the baby sleeping above them. A smooth sheet of white clouds blocked out all the color in the sky, and it seemed to have a similar effect on the world beneath it as well. The green of trees was duller than they had been in the previous day's sunlight, which had shone through the leaves to make them glow gold along their edges, faintly twinkling like earthly stars as they rustled in the wind. Today, the leaves merely shivered at the ends of their dull gray boughs, packed in shadow. The windows were closed. There was nothing to hear.

Finally, she asked, echoing his question to her the night before, "Do you believe that?"

He didn't move away; his hand remained on her back, but something in his countenance shifted. He didn't answer her, which was answer enough. He turned to the blank TV screen and remarked, "They said everything they needed to. The world still knows nothing of Hawkmoth and Mayura."

"Miss Rossi knows they are lying."

"But what can she do about that? She needs to play the helpless victim. If she really wanted to be the supervillain than she should have done better to conceal her identity. Everybody knows Volpina."

"She can do nothing for now," Nathalie replied, "But who knows how this situation will change? One of these days, I fear she will accuse them of knowing more than they let on, of protecting us. And it's true."

"She'd have to alter her story quite a bit."

"She's a master liar. She'll find a way." Nathalie looked away so suddenly that Gabriel flinched back. She rose to her feet and paced towards the bookcases at the back of the room. "Oh my gosh, what are we going to do?"

"Breathe," he told her softly. "Nathalie, we need to keep our heads."

"We can't afford it if anyone finds out what's going on."

"Marinette and Adrien are capable. They will handle this."

"And what if they don't? What if this goes on for another two years, and by the end of it all, we're ruined?" Nathalie whirled back around to face him. He had stood from the couch and was approaching her now with her abandoned tea.

"Drink this."

"It's just tea."

"I know, but I need you to take a pause."

"The box is gone," she reminded him emphatically. "Lila has it. She could do anything with it."

He lifted the cup, not replying. Nathalie acquiesced and took a few long sips of the drink, finding it tasteless. She downed half of the cup and set it on a shelf behind her.

"The box is gone," Gabriel repeated when she had finished, "but Lila needs to be careful. People will notice something is up if they recognize the other miraculous."

"You forget the man. Conspiracy, Adrien called him."

"They claimed him to be a sentimonster."

"But that was their own lie. Lila could spin him to be whatever she decides - or whatever he tells her to say. If he begins to use the other miraculous, everyone will associate the collection with Hawkmoth's supposed hand in all of this." She crossed her arms, fingernails sinking into her sunless skin. "We cannot ignore the girl's resentment for Ladybug. I would not be surprised if her intention was to destroy all trust the city has in her. If she makes them all believe that Hawkmoth has the box, that they are fighting without allies..."

"If Hawkmoth had the box, he would build an army."

"We don't know if there's more of them."

"Nathalie," Gabriel said quietly. A strange glint upon his stormy iris compelled her eyes to quit darting about the room, her mind to slow its panicked racing. Like a star burning through the thick of clouds, the light shone upon the surface of his heavy gaze, something shy and earnest all at once, something that begged her to ask:

"What is it?"

He leaned in, he whispered, though they were alone, "There is a silver lining."

Immersed as she was in fear, she only managed to draw just slightly out of the dark, hesitant to cling to that promise of comfort. Her arms uncrossed and hovered above his skin, not yet making contact. She asked again, more urgently this time, "What is it?"

To his jacket, he had pinned a brooch, a gift she had given him two Christmases ago, with which he adorned his outfit whenever the color scheme suited a dash of amethyst. He gestured to it now, and as his index finger brushed against the tip of a silver wing, she remembered. "Marinette had with her two miraculous last night," he said, "The butterfly was one of them."

"Yes," she murmured, glancing aside. "You're right."

"Lila cannot prove that Hawkmoth is the one behind this. But Ladybug and Chat Noir _can_ prove that he isn't."

She shook her head, insisting, "But that's a _problem_. If they reveal that the butterfly is in their possession, or if they appoint a new butterfly miraculous wielder, then all will know that they have hidden the truth about our circumstances." Nathalie pressed her eyes shut, attempting to hold down the panic that was building once again inside her. "They've bought some time, but this will fall apart. It has to."

"What if I'm the one to wear the miraculous again?"

He'd asked the question so suddenly that Nathalie wasn't certain if she had heard him correctly. She opened her eyes and regarded him, his open, anxious expression, his hands clasped before him, and his entire form posed in apprehension for her response. She merely stared at him for a few seconds, letting the suggestion wash over her.

"Well?"

"You want to be Hawkmoth again?" she asked starkly.

"I'm saying it's a solution."

"A solution? I feel it could be in a perfect world. Unfortunately the one we live in still fears its supervillain pair."

"Only because they believe they are a threat," Gabriel countered.

"Because they have been burned before." Nathalie turned away. Spotting the cup on the shelf, she took the rest of it down and grimaced through the bitterness spreading across her tongue. Bitterness like the taste of shame, having become palpable through the magic of the brooch she used to wear between her collarbones. What good does regret do when there is nothing to change, she always wondered, and what is there to regret when it landed you alive amongst the only ones you love? But she did regret it. She regretted that it made her undeserving of that happy ending. She used to think she'd always have nothing because all she wanted could never possibly belong to her; now it did, and what joy! what gratification! _What deal you must have made with the devil unaware. It's all yours, but it hangs by a thread. _

"It will be their only option if they want to keep the trust of the city," Gabriel was telling her, but his voice sounded miles away. "They can find a new Hawkmoth if they are in need of allies, but when one lie reveals itself, the rest will soon follow."

She walked around him, returning to the coffee table to set down the empty cup. The TV screen, blank and dark, seemed to her to bear the impressions of the images that had played on its surface minutes earlier. She listened to Ladybug and Chat Noir's voices in her head, winced at the sight of their bleak and angered expressions. Forcing her mouth to speak as though a level head sat on her shoulders, she replied, "You make a point," but the words came hollow. As they rang weightless through the atelier, she turned her eyes on him once more. "But you don't know if what you suggest is any better. The return of Hawkmoth is a dangerous, volatile concept that shouldn't be introduced to an already dangerous, volatile situation as this."

"Then what, do we wait in passivity?"

"As _regular citizens of Paris_, we must."

"But that's not what we are."

"It is now," she growled.

"Nathalie, my dear," he said gently, "I wouldn't expect you to do the same."

"Was Marinette's offer last night really so appealing to you?" she asked. Nathalie had been shocked when the girl pulled the brooches from her purse. She believed Marinette to have more sense than to have ever suggested such a thing as to use them again, when they had so nearly destroyed everything. It had been so long since she'd laid eyes on the peacock miraculous, and even longer since she last commanded Duusu to initiate the imperfect transformation, something so warped and jagged that to complete itself it needed to rip her apart. Remembering the encounter, Nathalie felt shaken. She reached for the back of the couch and steadied herself.

"I know this seems sudden," Gabriel said gently. That glint in his eye had returned. "But it's something I've actually been thinking about for a long time."

Nathalie gaped at him. "You _have_?" She combed through her memories, searching for any indication that her husband had any interest in reprising Paris's most notorious supervillain, but in her amazement, she could only focus on the confession echoing through her mind.

"Marinette wasn't actually offering us the miraculous. She was intentionally turning us off from the idea of ever using them again by taking advantage of this vulnerable time. She was doubtful of our - _my_ intentions."

"Why? What does she have to suspect?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I was…" He trailed off into a sigh, looking towards the window. The lines in his forehead deepened, and in his countenance, Nathalie could see the back and forth of conflict, could see how he wearied beneath the struggle. At last, he went on, "I was interested. I was even, at one point, desperate. Three months ago, I asked her if she'd ever consider giving the butterfly back, and she was smart to say no. I wasn't in the right mind."

"_Just_ three months ago?" Nathalie said, incredulous. "I was seven months _pregnant_. What made you think-?"

"I was scared. You were sick," he interrupted. "There was a time where I didn't know if you or the baby were going to be okay. I felt helpless, Nathalie."

"I -" Her voice caught in her throat as she hugged herself around her abdomen. A shiver passed through her body and the memories through her mind, sudden and cold and unwelcome. Her voice was hardly more than a tiny breath. "I know. I know."

He stepped forward at once, and Nathalie leaned into him as he enveloped her in his arms. She closed her eyes, waited for the warmth of his body to banish the chill in her bones.

"It felt like something I could do," he murmured.

She shook her head against his shoulder. "What could the butterfly miraculous do for our baby?"

He didn't reply. Nothing. It couldn't do a thing on its own. One thousand akumas wouldn't have helped a thing when Nathalie's skin blanched, when she doubled over at the stab of pain in her womb. Had Hawkmoth been at her side rather than Gabriel, it would not have made a difference.

Her thoughts flew to a dangerous place: _but the ladybug and cat..._

A breath of relief shuddered between her lips. There was no need for such a power; there would never be, and she and Anaïs would still be here either way.

When she pulled away, he grasped her forearms and still held her close, locking eyes with her earnestly. "Marinette was right to deny me then. Fear clouded my judgement. But this could be the way we save ourselves, Nathalie," he told her.

"No," she said forcefully. "We can't risk it. If anyone finds out who we are -"

"They won't. All they'll know is that Hawkmoth has had a change of heart. Mayura by association."

"What difference does it make if we're still anonymous?" She freed herself and tossed her arms in the air. "Why, _why_ couldn't we just disappear? Why did we have to get dragged back into this? We came so close."

"Nathalie, my dear, I know this is terrifying, but we can't sit idly by."

"We're _not_ heroes."

"We could be - could you imagine it? This might be the opportunity to change things. If Hawkmoth re-emerges to clear his name, to join forces with Ladybug and Chat Noir against this new evil -"

"It's too dangerous."

"It might be good."

She threw an irate glare at him. "We have a _baby_!"

"Exactly!" he shouted, startling her with the surge of passion that leaped into his voice. The storm clouds in his eyes darkened. "She _will_ grow up knowing Hawkmoth and Mayura's names. If I can help it, Nathalie, I won't let her think of us as the villains. I _won't_."

"So that's what this is about," Nathalie murmured.

He gazed at her, and she felt like she was watching him age years just standing there, breathing shortly, taking in his own words. "Yes," he finally said. "Yes, of course it is."

"We talked about this."

"And it didn't help, did it?" he asked, to which she couldn't respond.

She felt sick. Her head was spinning, and there was an unpleasant taste at the back of her throat. The weight of everything was closing in, stifling her, and then suffocating. She brought her hands to her temples and tried to breathe through the thickening air, counting, craving. She needed medicine.

"Nathalie," said Gabriel softly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

She blinked at him, trying to stamp the tears out of her eyes.

"For everything. For all of this. You'd been so loyal and unselfish from the beginning. I should have known that anyone in her right mind would have never been content to endure this miraculous endeavor," he told her, looking like he wanted to hold her, fearful he would only smother her more.

She was taken aback. "Gabriel."

"You were patient and hopeful for all that time. It took me far too long to see how it was hurting you. I don't think I ever fully did until now. I'm still learning."

The remorse in his voice was unbearable. Nathalie sobered for a moment as she stared at him. Then she gently, sadly smiled. "I was never in my right mind," she said.

She dismissed herself, for the moment she had spoken, the ill feeling crashed right back in. Nathalie hurried through the foyer and up the stairs, practically bursting through her bedroom door. She rushed to the bedside table and pulled open its small drawer, where she kept a glasses case, three or four books, some hand lotion, and a slew of odd ingredients and materials, sitting on a folded sheet of paper. If it were to be opened, one would read a list of directions and a label on the top scribbled in pink pen, reading _Potion_.

There was also a single vial in the drawer, its blue contents appearing to glitter in the darkness of the corner in which it rested.

She took it in her palm.

_I don't need this. _

_I do. _

Her heart pounded. She did. She needed it. Nathalie swallowed the medicine and rinsed out the vial in her bathroom sink before dropping it empty back into the drawer.

She would need to make more.

The baby was retrieved a moment later, having woken from her slumber wailing and hungry. She sat in the rocking chair in the corner of the room to feed Anaïs, and heard the slamming of a door and the thudding of footsteps as Adrien returned home. He said not a word. And as he passed by the nursery on the way to his room, Nathalie felt a pang in her heart. What had they done? How did they get here?

Her eyes lowered to the baby, who suckled with her eyes closed and her fingers delicately twitching.

A horrible venom coursed through her blood, too scathing to stand. "I hope you're nothing like me," she hissed, tasting scorn on her tongue. "You deserve better than that."

Anaīs's tiny clenched fist came to a rest against her mother's pounding heart.

Tears built in Nathalie's eyes. _I pray I haven't broken you already._


	5. Chapter 5

**Gradually falling behind on writing this. I hope I'll be able to get the next chapter out on time. Life is pretty chaotic at the moment. But I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter Five

They didn't know what next to expect. Since Ladybug and Chat Noir's public address, the entirety of Paris seemed to be on alert, waiting nervously, obsessively for the next attack. How often, they wondered, would Hawkmoth unleash his akumas? With the frequency of his previous reign of terror, or was he now intent on a new strategy, one that may favor him better than what had once repeatedly failed him? For three days, the questions of why and how were forgotten as everyone instead demanded, what next? Would he show his face again? Would he remain hidden and voiceless? Would every akuma come paired with a sentimonster? Every news broadcast, every visit to the Internet was showered with anxious chatter. Gabriel and Nathalie found it unbearable.

Hawkmoth's first few attacks had united Paris through the same incredible surge of fear, countless citizens wondering if they would be the fearsome supervillain's next proxy. At first, not all were aware that rapid negative emotional changes made them vulnerable to victimization; they thought they could be overtaken at any given moment, emotional state notwithstanding. It was a period of uncertainty that passed once the pattern had quickly established itself, but still, in the midst of fear for one's own role in the battle between good and supposed evil, an eager trust was rooted deep in their hearts that the superheroes rising out of the shadow of tumult would save them from this looming threat. Those who took courage and optimism quickly let their fear subside in the interims between attacks, and even in the thick of them could rest assured that all damage would be reversed at the end of the day.

Now, however, optimism, where it existed, was flat and lifeless. Little time had passed since Volpina's reappearance, but already Gabriel could tell that the nature of these Parisians' fear was different; it was adulterated by anger, by exasperation, by obstinance. They wouldn't be willing to adapt this time. The sooner this was dealt with, they thought, the better. To them, Hawkmoth and Mayura had been revived from the dead. Their plots in the ground were gaping wide and deep, and the people were anxious to see them filled again, impatient regarding anything that might delay the task.

Adrien had rubbed his chin in thought when Gabriel prompted him to consider how long it would take before Volpina and Conspiracy struck again. "I don't know. They seemed to be after our miraculous, which they can only get ahold of when we're transformed. I wouldn't think they'd wait very long."

"What does Marinette think?"

"She said, 'Depends on how much they're counting on us to lose our minds'," he answered. "She's confused. Since the box was stolen, that has to mean Volpina or Conspiracy know her identity. She thought they would surely come for her earrings, but nobody has."

It was curious indeed. Ladybug's identity had to be compromised, but Marinette admitted that even at school, Lila took no more notice to her than usual. They had even wound up alone for half a minute at one point during the day, but there was no sly remark, no damning threat, not even a glare. Lila was an incredible liar, that was true, but Marinette had always been able to see through the façade. Nothing about Lila seemed out of the ordinary the past couple days. Nothing at all.

"If she doesn't know," Adrien told his father, "then Conspiracy must. The box could not have just vanished into the void. I mean, geez, the guy could turn invisible. He shouldn't have a problem approaching Marinette when she is alone, taking what he needs. But nothing has happened. We don't know if he's waiting for the right moment, we don't know if he somehow came across that box not knowing who it belonged to. We don't know anything."

"How long do they plan to keep up this akuma charade?" Gabriel later wondered, pacing the length of his bathroom. Nathalie spit her toothpaste into the sink and rinsed her brush. It was 7:30 AM and she looked like she hadn't slept a moment the night before. "Lila is smart. She thinks ahead. She would have come up with another explanation if she didn't know this was the lie she would be nursing for a while. Will she be using a different miraculous every time, so she seems like a different akuma? Will Conspiracy use them? Surely, she can't make herself a target every time."

His wife tiredly met his eyes through the mirror and dropped the toothbrush into a cup. "Well, that offers some consolation, doesn't it?" she muttered. "Her deception is nearly infallible so she ought not to fuck with it yet. Fortunate that she'll buy us some time by being predictable." Nathalie's eyelids dropped and she leaned over the countertop. "For now."

But predictability didn't favor them anyway. They took no comfort when Lila struck for a second time, just a few days after her first attack. Gabriel had been at work, struggling to complete his design of the formal jumpsuit and still without a clue how to make the garment seem more cohesive. Halfway across the room, Alain was seated on an armchair, scrolling through his tablet and giving Gabriel a verbal report of how business was running in the office that morning, which he was only half paying attention to.

"Mr. Agreste."

The belt must have been the issue. It wasn't working.

"Uh, sir?"

But without the belt, the jumpsuit looked so bare. Something needed to go there, to break up the texture.

"_Mr. Agreste_."

"What, Alain?" he growled, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Sir, I'm receiving an alert of an akuma attack. Should I proceed as usual?"

Gabriel's head snapped up, and his glare landed so sharply on Alain that the younger man went rigid in his seat. "An akuma attack?"

"Looks like it." Alain held out his tablet and pointed to the notification at the top of the screen. "Well, seems like this is going to be a regular thing again. I really thought the man had called it quits." His dark brow was lowered into an aggravated scowl.

"Does it say what the akuma is?" Gabriel asked urgently.

Alain opened the notification to search for more information. "Nothing specified yet."

Gabriel's hands gripped the sides of his screen, tried to quiet the rage of adrenaline flowing through his body. He cleared his throat, he forced his eyes from Alain's casually seated frame back to his work, the jumpsuit now looked to him completely untouchable, a puzzle impossible to decipher.

"Should I continue?"

Gabriel dipped his head and listened to nothing.

Within the next five minutes, there was video of Ladybug and Chat Noir arriving on the scene. Gabriel sank his teeth into his lip when he saw what was going on. Near the Arc de Triomphe, half a dozen cars were levitating through the air in a wide, slow ring, and every minute or so, when one of them reached the circle's peak, it would drop through the air and stop inches from crashing into the ground.

"Oh shit..." Alain swore under his breath, watching the footage himself. "What kind of akuma…?"

_That's not an akuma_, Gabriel nearly said, but he bit down only harder.

Ladybug and Chat Noir rushed onto the Place Charles de Gaulle. A third figure, dressed familiarly in bright orange, passed under the ring of floating cars and charged them back.

Volpina again.

He shook his head, confused. Whatever she chose to do, it had intention, and he feared what it could be.

Alain had noticed too, "Isn't that-?"

"Yes."

"Her power is-"

"To create illusions. Those cars aren't real."

"Hawkmoth's an imbecile," snorted Alain. "People know who she is. They're gonna stop falling for it soon enough, if they haven't already."

"It wouldn't be such a problem if she didn't show her damn face," Gabriel snarled quietly. "Whatever, her goal must be to just draw them out. Hawkmoth wants the miraculous? He'll need a fight to get them. It doesn't matter who he uses."

Alain watched his boss for a moment, taken aback by the venom in his voice. Then, he lowered his eyes back to the tablet in his lap, loosening and tightening the rings around his fingers nervously.

A fight Volpina was going to get. She fought viciously, swinging her flute like a club, dodging every impending blow and never hesitating to use her fists whenever she was close enough. Gabriel watched his son get struck in the cheek before Lila whirled around and pitched her flute at Ladybug behind her, who only just managed to soften the attack with the interference of her yo-yo.

Gabriel swallowed hard and shut off the screen, unable to watch anymore. He made for the door. "You remain here," he ordered Alain. "Turn that footage off and conduct business as usual. I sure hope not everyone has forgotten how to handle themselves during an akuma attack."

Alain rose from the armchair and drifted towards his desk. "You got it, sir."

Gabriel left him and traveled upstairs. He knocked twice on the door of Nathalie's personal office and entered, finding her seated at her computer just as he expected, her eyes fixed on the broadcast.

"Nathalie."

"What does she want with them?"

"It's going to be okay."

"It'll be okay once it's over with."

He walked towards her, shutting a filing drawer that was left ajar. He stood behind her chair and ran his fingers through her hair, spreading it neatly across her shoulders. All he wanted was to calm her the way she always did him, just by laying his touch on her body. He wanted to feel her fear melt between his fingers, drain out of her fretful blue eyes. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"She's angry."

"I can tell."

"It's personal."

"How's Anaïs?" he wondered, trying to divert her attention.

"She's…" Nathalie was quiet for a moment. "She's fine. You can bring her here if you want."

"Of course."

He was reluctant to withdraw his hands, but a moment later he had made it down the hall to the nursery and picked Anaïs up from where she laid in her crib, awake and quiet, her eyes floating from spot to spot upon the ceiling.

"Good morning, love," he murmured. She looked at him placidly. For several seconds, Gabriel lingered in the room, holding his daughter against his chest. A long and heavy breath streamed in and out of his lungs.

Outside, it was quiet. If only time could freeze for him now, or better, if he could blink and have all of this trouble pass him by, Anaīs in his arms.

When he returned to Nathalie, she waved her hand and pointed at the screen. In the less than a minute since he had been gone, Volpina's rotating circle of cars had been dispelled.

"There was a flash of light," Nathalie told him. Gabriel handed her the baby. "It seemed to disorient them. And then…"

She trailed off. Gabriel fixed his eyes on the computer screen and saw it, a black shape blinking into existence right in front of a recovering Ladybug and Chat Noir. It's arms - or wings, perhaps more accurately - sliced at the pair and drove them back the way they came. Ladybug tossed her yo-yo forward, attempting to propel herself after Volpina, who had taken off running towards the Arc, but the heroine twisted poorly in the air to avoid the shadow's wing and spiraled into the asphalt

"Conspiracy," Gabriel muttered.

"Raven miraculous holder?"

"Supposedly."

The dark figure lunged for Ladybug on the ground. She rolled away, and as his wing clipped against the asphalt, there was a spray of sparks.

"Are those made of metal?" Nathalie said, pale.

"Adrien said they were like knives."

Gabriel and Nathalie watched in silence as Conspiracy drove them further and further away from the Arc. Nathalie's fingers stroked Anaïs's forehead absent-mindedly, and the baby blinked into her mother's stark expression, her unblinking stare. Gabriel's efforts to calm her didn't appear to be working.

"We should turn it off."

"Please. I can't look away."

He leaned over the desk to grab the mouse.

Nathalie asked, her voice small, "Do you think this is how everyone else used to feel? Watching this?"

Gabriel didn't answer her. He shifted the cursor to the top of the page to close the browser, but paused as the camera panned away from the fight to the top of the Arc. While Conspiracy was locked in battle with the heroes, Volpina had scaled the building, and she wasn't alone as she looked out onto the Plaza.

"No…"

The shot changed, another camera's angle revealing a closer view of the villains. Nadja Chamack narrated, her voice stuttering with surprise, "It-it is! It's H-Hawkmoth!"

"Hawkmoth" flanked Volpina like a proud statue, his smile broad and sly, much like that of the illusionist herself. Silver eyes pierced through the broad daylight, observing the fight below, while hands gloved in gunmetal sat perched at the top of a sheathed rapier. Gabriel wondered with a deal of bitterness if the girl even knew that a blade was meant to hide within the guise of a harmless cane.

"There he is," Gabriel muttered, his fingers slipping away from the mouse.

Nathalie shook her head in disbelief, ignoring the baby's little tugs at an undone button on her flannel.

A moment later, Conspiracy appeared on the rooftop beside them, having left Ladybug and Chat Noir behind. The shot changed back and forth between the heroes on the ground and the villains far above them.

Ladybug shouted, "We know he's not real, Volpina!"

"Am I not?" asked the Hawkmoth illusion, and his voice was like sandpaper on Gabriel's teeth. His fists balled, his face growing hot with anger. Had he any less patience, he would have busted the monitor. "You'll have to prove that."

Chat Noir prepared to charge, but Ladybug held him back. She glared fiercely into the eyes of her old enemy; surely, Gabriel thought, if the illusion were any closer it would evaporate under the force of her determined and outraged stare. Then, she stepped forward and launched her yo-yo into the air, activating her Lucky Charm.

"What is it?" Nadja asked. The camera shifted as it tried to make out the object that had fallen into her hands. It was difficult to make out, the lucky charm being red and spotted, but was small, smaller than her palm.

She observed it for a minute, and Gabriel watched the fire in her face dim. She shook her head. She sighed, then she turned to her partner and whispered in his ear.

Chat Noir hesitated.

He looked away.

Then, slowly, solemnly, he nodded.

The lucky charm clutched in her fist, Ladybug soared away, leaving him in the Plaza by himself.

"I can prove you're just a copycat of the original," Chat Noir said to the Hawkmoth illusion, twirling his baton, "But you'll have to come down here first."

Somehow, Gabriel knew what was about to happen next. He drew away from his wife, from the computer and stood at the window, squinting into the harsh daylight. He scanned the broad azure sky, his breath held, his foot tapping against the hardwood. He cupped his left hand in his right behind his back and sent dull pain shooting through his wrist by the tightness of his grip.

He couldn't explain it when Nathalie prompted him, but he knew, sure as it was blood in his veins that Ladybug was coming _here_.

"Nathalie," he said quietly, feeling her stare on the back of his head. "It will be okay."

There was no reply to voice her agreement or denial, only the heat of her long stare. She knew as well. She understood.

At last, Nathalie closed the browser, killing the oppressive sounds of helicopter blades and Nadja's commentary on the fight. The next few minutes were filled with silence, broken up by the baby's occasional quiet babbles. Gabriel wanted to apologize for the thought that had crossed Ladybug's mind when that lucky charm landed in her palm. He wanted to kneel at her side and ask forgiveness for wanting what she so greatly feared. Lay his hand on her arm. Take the pain away. Why didn't it ever seem to work when he did it?

A blazing red spot in the sky flung itself into view. _Here she comes_. They couldn't fight that at least.

They met her in Adrien's room - she had entered through the window Chat Noir left open on his way out. Her reluctance bled like ink through newspaper, surfacing as a darkness in her large blue eyes that only expanded as she saw Gabriel and Nathalie at the door. Nathalie hung back, the baby clutching at the ends of her hair.

Ladybug wordlessly opened her palm, revealing the Lucky Charm to the pair. It was a brooch, butterfly-shaped and the same exact size as the one Gabriel frequently adorned his jackets with.

Nathalie exhaled audibly and met Gabriel's eyes.

"I have my reservations, obviously," Ladybug said, ending the stretch of silence that had possessed them all. "But the Lucky Charm isn't wrong. I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't cross my mind already, but only a sign like this could have swayed me."

She dispelled the brooch in a flash of pink light. In the last year, Ladybug and Chat Noir had lost their time sensitivity, and were capable of remaining transformed for long periods of time after using their powers.

Next, she revealed the butterfly miraculous, and Gabriel's heart lurched at seeing the jewel once again. Only a matter of days had passed since it and the peacock had been placed on the dining room table before his eyes, but only now did the miraculous feel real, did it feel tangible, like he could reach out and close his hand around it and feel its magic pulsing between his fingers. "I have a plan. I need you. We need you." She glanced away, nose wrinkled with a scowl, "I can't believe I'm doing this. I'd say I don't have a choice, but -" Ladybug closed some of the distance between them, traversing Adrien's room. "Gabriel Agreste, this is the miraculous of the butterfly, as I'm sure you're very familiar. You will use it," she added pointedly, "for the greater good."

He plucked it from her grasp. Conflict swirled in his breast as he closed his fist over the jewel. A few days ago, he would have refused, but so much has changed in that short time. He croaked, "Marinette, are you certain about this?"

"Short answer, no." She had stopped near enough that her head was angled up to look into his startled face. "Let's get a move on."

"If you're not certain," Nathalie interjected, "should we really go through with this?"

"Fine - long answer. It's not like Chat Noir is holding off two villains on his own." Ladybug blew at her bangs. "I know this is coming out of nowhere given where we all stood on the matter a few days ago, but this is our chance to dismantle Volpina's lie before she can spin it into something else. She says Hawkmoth is akumatizing her? You'll prove he isn't, and this falls on her shoulders."

"You said you haven't heard anything of Hawkmoth and Mayura in almost two years. You will reveal your own deception as well," Gabriel said.

She shook her head. "No, not if Chat Noir and I don't know that you have had a change of heart."

He understood. His was a different fight, then. Nathalie still looked unconvinced, her gaze a little wild, her lips trembling as though she was trying to speak but didn't know what to say. The excitement stirring quietly in Gabriel's chest could not could not entirely overpower the reservations blooming out of the sympathetic pangs for his love. A great, familiar power pressed into the palm of his hand, yet he felt so useless standing before her with his plain and magicless touch, his undead desire for control administered by something that did not exist alone in him. He wasn't like her. He wasn't strong in his own right. He wasn't so selfless and sacrificing. A surge of guilt produced a stinging pain beneath his skin, and he nearly dropped the miraculous like it was melting into poison, because she deserved his refusal. She deserved his backwards steps from the shadow of the heroine in the room, the fall of his arm around her shoulders, and the sound of his voice saying, "You have the miraculous. Find someone else."

But he didn't move, and he thought bitter things of himself. Ladybug continued, "You are coming to clear your name. You won't bear responsibility for the agenda of these new villains. Whatever this is about, it's going to fall over their heads. Not yours."

He croaked, "Ladybug-"

"If the rest of Paris hasn't forgiven you, then you can disappear again. What matters is cornering Volpina and Conspiracy and exposing their true intentions, which we can't do as long as everyone is convinced of Hawkmoth's puppeteering." She was speaking quickly, in a rush to return to the battle, but she took a breath here and switched her eyes between Gabriel and Nathalie, at their wary expressions. "Look," she murmured, "I'm sorry. I really am. I know it's complicated and this isn't what any of us really want, but it's what we have to do, okay? It's _not_ permanent."

For some reason, that sentence grieved him.

Ladybug backed away towards the window, spinning her yo-yo. "Transform and meet us after ten minutes. I know that will seem like forever with everything that's going on, but we cannot have people suspecting we're working with you. Take your time. And make your intentions clear."

"Ladybug."

She paused, huffing.

Gabriel spoke truthfully. "I'm honored."

The heroine nodded and swung away.

A moment passed of silence, and then Nathalie entered further into the room, her steps careful, like the floor was made of ice. Gabriel fixed his eyes on his daughter, fearful of what Nathalie's countenance had to say of him.

His thumb ran against the edges of the miraculous still in his hand. He whispered her name.

"Oh, don't bother," she said, and Gabriel could not contain the sigh of relief that flooded out of him when he glanced and saw the hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm not unreasonable. At least I hope I'm not. What Marinette says makes plenty of sense."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for." He wasn't sure he believed her, but he did not argue. "The lucky charm has spoken after all. Paris needs you."

"If it needed you one day, would you answer the call?"

The sad glisten in her eye as she turned her head served as her reply.

"What can I do for you, Nathalie?"

"Do exactly as Ladybug tells you to do," she murmured, looking out the open window, "and hope it's enough to put an end to this. An end that's good for all of us." She kissed Anaīs's forehead, who's round little face stretched into a smile. Nathalie's eyes landed on his hand, on the miraculous. "Well, what are you waiting for? I know you're dying to see him."

Gabriel shut his eyes and sighed. _Here we go._

The miraculous pinned to his shirt, a soft purple glow radiated from its jeweled center. The long narrow wings protruding from the brooch vanished as a small sphere of light ignited between him and Nathalie. The baby's eyes went wide. She squirmed in her mother's grasp. And then a lavender kwami floated before them, his eyes darting between the familiar faces of the pair watching him.

Gabriel's chest tightened.

"Master?"

"Nooroo."

The kwami flinched as Gabriel held out his hand, but a moment later, his bewildered expression softened, and he slowly placed himself in his old holder's palm.

"A lot has changed..." Gabriel murmured sheepishly.

Nooroo blinked. "You have a child."

Nathalie smiled and brought Anaïs closer. The baby reached out and brushed her finger against Nooroo's wing. A surge of joy flooded Gabriel's veins, _her_ joy. His free hand clasped the miraculous, felt it pulsing as it detected his daughter's emotion. His throat closed. Tears sprung to his eyes. It had been so long since he'd felt anything like this. He'd forgotten what it was like to be so close, to feel others almost as he could feel himself. "She likes you," he told Nooroo, who smiled at the little girl.

Then, turning his eyes back to Gabriel and Nathalie, he said solemnly, "You two are scared. What's going on? Why am I here with you?"

He explained everything, as briefly as he could. Nooroo was alarmed to hear that all the miraculous in Marinette's possession but his and the peacock had been stolen, but the expression that affected his countenance when he was told that Gabriel was aid the heroes as Hawkmoth was unreadable. Gabriel knew he had been severe and even cruel with the creature in the past. As much as he had hoped to have the butterfly's power back in his grasp, as much as that deep, quiet, massive piece of him had missed Nooroo's companionship, he had never given proper thought to how Nooroo would feel to come face to face with his old master, who had been so unkind, whose eventual apology was feeble and shrouded in pain for other people he hadn't cared for enough. Gabriel found himself very near tears despite his efforts to stifle them. It was all rushing at him like wind at his back: the guilt, the horror at himself that maybe should have snuffed that want of his for good.

"I'm sorry, Nooroo," Gabriel said, when he had finished the story, "I know you would prefer never to work with me again. But Ladybug said it's only a temporary arrangement."

The kwami was silent for a moment and rose out his palm. To Gabriel's surprise, he replied, "Well, that's a shame. I always thought you would make a good hero."

Gabriel wiped his eyes.

"They'll be anticipating you soon," Nathalie said quietly.

"Master?"

"Yes, Nooroo?"

The kwami tilted his head. "You don't have to say 'Dark', you know."

Gabriel smiled. He took a step away from Nathalie and commanded, "Nooroo, wings rise!"

He remembered this. He remembered how the magic felt, enveloping his form and piercing through his skin to charge his very blood with its power. He wondered now how he'd ever gotten used to it. The light traveled cool and fast up his body, from his feet to his head, and in the space of a few racing heart beats, Hawkmoth had appeared in his son's bedroom after a twenty-two month disappearance. Like it was nothing. Like he'd never been gone.

Nathalie's cheeks ballooned and released a quivering breath. Big and glossy eyes took in the sight of him, his violet suit and extra few inches of height, the gleam of his dark silver mask under the high summer light reaching through the windows. She wouldn't meet his gaze, not even when he called her name. She seemed overwhelmed. Her uncertainty slid under his skin; doubt had always felt foreign, like pins and needles, something that could never be brushed away.

The baby cooed. She looked amazed by the figure standing in front of her. Nathalie blinked down at her daughter.

"That's still him," she told her, "That's still your daddy."

She walked over and placed Anaïs in Hawkmoth's arms. The baby extended her arm and tried to reach for Hawkmoth's chin. Her eyes glittered. He gave her his index finger to grasp onto instead. A kiss between the eyes made her smile - he hadn't seen her smile much at all, and it filled him with warmth and love.

"She looks even tinier." Nathalie sighed. "Not a bad first impression."

"The best anyone's ever had." He curled his finger beneath the baby's grasp, peering at his wife curiously. "What did you think when you saw me transform for the first time?" he wondered.

"That this was going to be a big problem for me."

They stood in each other's company for a minute longer before Hawkmoth reluctantly passed Anaīs back to her mother. Cane clutched tightly in his hand, he approached the open window, eyes sweeping the surroundings of the house, imagining that somewhere out there, he was needed, that a pair of heroes would become a trio, if only for a day, for a few minutes. _A few minutes_, he thought. Suddenly all his hope felt foolish. Who on earth could forgive a hundred sins after a mere moment of goodness? Ladybug's instruction of ten minutes had passed, but he waited at the window, afraid.

"They're waiting for you," Nathalie said behind him.

He asked, "You'll be okay here?"

"Of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Gabriel," she murmured. "Just go."

And he did.

Sometimes, he had dreams of flying through the air, the wind whistling in his ears as he dropped from one rooftop to the next. Gabriel had few chances to leave the lair those years ago; being able to use his power from hiding allowed him to avoid risking his identity in a physical confrontation with Ladybug and Chat Noir. But while many of his memories were filled with the sharp angled light cutting through that great and dark room, with the companionship of white-winged butterflies to delicately curb his solitude, every now and then, his dreams would remind him of the power he expressed through his enhanced physical capabilities. A series of leaps and bounds, the drop of his heart through his chest while he fell, the height, the fury, the momentum, he remembered it all. These sensations were crisp in his head even through the whirl of fear that usually consumed these dreams, fear for the partner whose need for rescue was what often drew him out of hiding. To this day, he would awaken in the middle of the night and reach for her beside him, to ensure that she was there, that she wasn't still trapped in his mind, weak and needing him.

This time, outside of him, it was the city that was in need. Hawkmoth flew towards the Arc de Triomphe, trying to keep his gaze fixed ahead. He didn't know if there were any Parisians seeing him now, but he tried not to imagine their reactions, attempting to shut out any surge of emotion that might register through his miraculous.

When he arrived, he remained unseen, choosing first to gage the current situation. The fight had moved off the Plaza, the illusion Hawkmoth had disappeared - whether Volpina had managed to maintain the lie of his reality or if he had been visibly destroyed, he couldn't know yet - and in its stead where a crowd of Volpina replicas, running about and taunting Ladybug and Chat Noir. Conspiracy, meanwhile, flickered around them. Hawkmoth's heart skipped each time the raven miraculous holder swung his wings at the heroes. They were usually always able to avoid the deadliest blows by any threat, but he was terrified nonetheless, especially for his son, who didn't hesitate protecting his partner when there was no other choice.

He couldn't make an akuma. He had no butterflies anyway, but more importantly, he had to prove he was there to fight on the side of Ladybug and Chat Noir, and to express that through his own actions. Hawkmoth took a deep breath. He bent his knees, prepared to leap into the fray…

The tip of a black blade appeared out of the corner of his eye. Hawkmoth gasped and spun around, knocking himself into the brick chimney he had been standing behind. He unsheathed his rapier half-way, but the blade drew closer to his throat, and his hand froze.

Conspiracy glowered at him, black eyes flicking up and down. The feathers on his right wing rustled as though they were real, and Hawkmoth tightened his jaw at the sound of them scraping together. One of them so nearly grazed his face that Hawkmoth shut his eyes, held his breath, but nothing happened, and he blinked at the man, whose stare looked to be prying deep into his own, completely inscrutable.

It was a long moment before either of them spoke. Hawkmoth wanted to steal a glance behind the chimney, to scan the scene of the fight, to ensure that it really was Conspiracy standing in front of him, and not another illusion, but the cacophony of a hundred screeching Volpinas told him that this figure was indeed real.

At last, Conspiracy moved. He dragged his wing down the brick, just an inch past Hawkmoth's ear. Dust and stone tumbled from its surface onto the ground.

He said, "Hand it over. And I'll let you head back into retirement, old man."

According to Ladybug, Conspiracy's miraculous was a bracelet fastened around his right wrist, but his arm was hidden by the metal wing still scoring the brick against his back.

Hawkmoth tried to remain steadfast. Scowling into the other man's face, he snarled, "Care to tell me what you plan to do with it?"

"Don't worry. It will be in good hands."

Holding Conspiracy's gaze, Hawkmoth released the hilt of the rapier and let it slide all the way back into its sheath. Slowly, very slowly, he placed his hand back at his side, tried to loosen his tense shoulders. If Hawkmoth appeared to relax, perhaps Conspiracy would as well.

Just so, the wing drew away by an inch, and then another. The feathers began to lay flat against his arm, and Hawkmoth reached to clasp his miraculous. Conspiracy's stern facial expression shifted under his mask - a look of surprise perhaps, though it was hard to tell when his eyes were so dark and unreadable. Certain he could avoid a deadly strike by the wing, Hawkmoth suddenly lifted his cane to strike the man across the face. Conspiracy jerked back, the blow barely clipping the tip of the beak-like shape of his mask.

Hawkmoth took advantage of the extra bit of space that had opened between them. He dove to the side, sliding out from the hiding provided by the chimney. Conspiracy lunged towards him, and Hawkmoth sprung back to avoid the slice of his wing -

Only to plunge off the side of the building.

He landed favorably thanks to his enhanced agility. When he glanced up, he saw Conspiracy diving towards him, wings outstretched. Hawkmoth rolled away, and his opponent's feathers broke into the concrete sidewalk with an unpleasant screech of metal and stone. He stumbled into the street and gasped as he backed into something, whirling around just fast enough to watch one of the still numerous Volpina illusions disappear. Through the dwindling crowd, he spotted his son, slashing his baton through three false Volpinas. He was panting for breath, blonde hair drenched with sweat under the summer heat, green eyes wild with anger.

Then, Chat Noir saw him, his body tensing and his heavy breath slowing to a momentary pause. Hawkmoth frozen, just a second, and blinked at him.

It occurred to him that if his son could see him, then the city could as well. Hawkmoth lifted his gaze to the sky and sucked in his breath upon catching the helicopter in flight, from which the fight was being filmed and broadcasted to the anxious city.

He wondered if Nathalie was watching.

Conspiracy was dislodging his wings from the earth. If people were to know that he was the real Hawkmoth, that he had come to fight on the side of good, then he would need to make a show of it.

He charged Conspiracy, pulling out his rapier and casting the sheath into the street. He lifted the blade over his head, intent on driving his opponent into the wall of the building behind him. Conspiracy gracefully evaded all blows, and Hawkmoth dodged his in turn. They fought in a circle, and every now and then, Hawkmoth was in the position to notice that the Volpinas were quickly vanishing. He heard his son shout "Cataclysm!", and a moment later, the ripping of the earth. Hawkmoth ducked under a blow that could have decapitated him, and watched as a jagged crack in the asphalt burst open under the feet of the remaining Volpinas destroying what was left of them.

"Hawkmoth!" cried Ladybug, and she and Chat Noir started running to join him in combat against Conspiracy, but they never reached him.

Hawkmoth's rapier passed through the air and clattered on the sidewalk. He'd missed. Again. Even with all his strength, he was tiring. He should have found a way to create an akuma after all. That would have proven that Volpina had been lying to everyone. He cursed himself and spit out the sweat that had built on his upper lip. In the street, he saw Volpina, the _real_ Volpina descend from the sky and intercept the heroes on their way to his side.

He leaped to his feet and backed away, putting a considerable bit of distance between himself and Conspiracy. The raven miraculous holder held his wings out to his side, his breath equally labored, his skin flushed where it was visible. He stood a couple meters from a store-front window, a building clearly abandoned when the battle had migrated to the area. Hawkmoth narrowed his eyes, squinting into the glare of sunlight on the glass. There had to be a way to pin down Conspiracy.

Scraping his shoe against the asphalt, he took a deep breath.

He ignored his wariness of those frightful metal wings.

He ran.

Indeed, he would make a show of it.

Conspiracy had backed away several paces and begun to lift his arms to defend himself, but Hawkmoth dove lower than he anticipated and managed to grapple the man around his waist, sending them both crashing through the store-front window. In the same moment the glass split apart, a loud, piercing bird-like screech rippled through the air at such an unbearable pitch that Hawkmoth's head split with pain. They landed on the floor of the building on a bed of shattered glass. The screech reverberated through his mind like it had a life of its own, trying to tear it apart. Hawkmoth felt movement, and then he realized his arms were collapsing over empty air. His vision wasn't clear. He was dizzied by the noise, his surroundings tilting back and forth.

After a moment, as the vicious echoes began to quiet, Hawkmoth could see clearly enough to know that Conspiracy had vanished. His hand felt for his miraculous, just to make sure it was there.

He pushed himself against a shelf. The thick, magical fabric of his suit prevented the shattered glass from ripping into his skin, but he felt weak. What was that scream? Hawkmoth had never heard anything like it. He wasn't even sure if it was real.

The door swung open a moment later and then slammed closed. Footsteps crackled against the shards of glass on the tile. Hawkmoth tried to clear his vision, blink the rest of the confusion out of his eyes.

_Conspiracy? _

They paused in the middle of the room, shadow stretching towards Hawkmoth, whose limbs felt numb and useless.

It wasn't Conspiracy.

This newcomer didn't look like a typical miraculous holder. A thick, floor-length cloak shrouded their body in violet, several shades darker than Hawkmoth's suit and embroidered at the edges with silver thread. A deep hood concealed their head and darkened the look of their mask, which was also silver and covered their entire face. Their mouth was not visible, nor were their eyes, which Hawkmoth could only imagine were glaring at him through the slits in the mask, too narrow to see through unless one stood nose to nose with them. The wind tugged at their cloak, and where it parted, Gabriel could only see a glimpse of dark clothes underneath.

A belt of sorts was tied loosely around their waist, hanging lopsided. Numerous small bottles adorned it, one of which, containing a black liquid, like ink, was gripped in their large gloved hand. Before Hawkmoth had the chance to react, the stranger lifted the bottle to their face, and in a deep, muffled voice whispered something under their breath.

The bottle shattered, and its glass joined the mess that had been made of the window. But the inky liquid didn't fall. It swirled around the stranger's fingers and began to bubble, much like the right hand of Chat Noir whenever he activated his power. Hawkmoth's eyes went wide and he held the shelf, trying to rise to his feet as quickly as he could. His ears still rang, the earth swayed. He planted his blade on the ground to steady himself.

The stranger outstretched their fingers, and the bubbling intensified. Hawkmoth felt a burning sensation on his chest, and when he felt for his miraculous, he pulled his hand away and hissed in pain. The brooch was hot, like iron over a flame. He blinked down to his chest, and yelped when he saw that the miraculous was shrouded in black liquid, just like the cloaked figure's hand. Small dark bubbles radiated from its center.

_What's going on?_

The stranger twisted their hand, and the sizzling dark energy burst into a cloud of darkness. Hawkmoth fell to his knees as the magic flared into his miraculous, a white-hot agony stabbing into his chest. The heat engulfed his entire body, and then his vision blackened.

But then, a moment later, it cleared.

Hawkmoth panted heavily, the pain ebbing away. He glanced at his chest to find his miraculous intact, apparently the same as it had been a minute before. He snapped his head up to assess the cloaked figure. Their hand remained outstretched, but there was no longer any magic bubbling around the fingers. Shattered glass like a spill of crushed ice lay scattered at their feet, but the inky black contents were nowhere to be seen.

"What?" they whispered. Their mask concealed their expression, but by the tone of the quiet voice, they seemed confused.

Hawkmoth rose to his feet, lifting his rapier, prepared to charge.

The cloaked figure snapped their fingers and took out another bottle. Another whisper, and Hawkmoth halted as a flash of light encompassed them. When it cleared, they had vanished.

The battle ended a minute later, when Conspiracy, who had vanished after the crash through the window to fight by Volpina's side, whispered in the girl's ear and led her away. Ladybug and Chat Noir rushed to Hawkmoth, who couldn't begin to explain what had just happened. Ladybug glanced at the helicopter and shooed Hawkmoth in the opposite direction. They'd meet again in a few minutes, out of view.

All three of them detransformed and collapsed upon reaching the house, exhausted, bewildered. Adrien raised his head to stare at his father. His green eyes were full of questions, and Gabriel knew he'd struggle to provide any answer requested from him. From the top of the stairs, Nathalie watched them, hands shaking, eyes vacant. All Gabriel could feel was her fear, like a bundle of thorns on his tongue, like a river of ice cascading slow and painful in his blood.


	6. Chapter 6

**Managing to get this one out on time. Life is very chaotic. Can't leave the house, but it's hard to focus on writing right now. **

**I hope y'all are staying safe. Please enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Six

"It felt like he was…" Gabriel had struggled to describe it to his audience, a room of three anxiety-ridden humans and three arguably just-as-anxious kwamis lingering over their shoulders. He claimed he didn't have the tightest grasp on all his senses when it began. Before he continued, he'd glanced fearfully at his wife, Nathalie, who had a stone like grip on his upper arm. "It felt like he was trying to break the miraculous."

"Break it?" Marinette asked. She pulled out her phone when Gabriel nodded at her. "Describe what that was like."

She took notes as he went on. Quick. Hot. A stab in the chest, right where the brooch was pinned that flared through his entire body. He blacked out - briefly, so briefly that when he came to, he was still upright on his knees. Marinette tried to maintain her sense of calm as she listened, as were the others in the room. Adrien, at her side, pressed his lips together in a thin line and stared blankly into the space between himself and his father. Nathalie's expression was severe. She watched her husband nearly without blinking. Marinette wondered what it must have been like to watch the fight from such a distance, knowing exactly who was behind the mask, knowing exactly what was at stake, and being utterly helpless. Nathalie had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with her former miraculous, but Marinette could not imagine that she would prefer to stand by idly, especially under these circumstances.

"Whoa," said Plagg, which, according to Adrien a moment later, was one of the first things he had ever said in direct response to Gabriel. "That kind of sounds like a cataclysm."

Marinette stiffened. A cataclysm. She looked over her notes again. Black liquid potion. Bubbling. Pain. A whispered spell, perhaps. She blinked at the screen. That did sound like a cataclysm. But, how?

She didn't have much time to think about it in the moment, because then, the news reports started flooding in, and central to all of them was the puzzling reappearance of Hawkmoth. Chat Noir had managed to prove that the one standing at Volpina's side on the Arc de Triomphe was an illusion, and there was much more being said about the real one. The media found his actions baffling, but the vast majority of sources, including the Ladyblog, did not trust him minutely.

"Hawkmoth is the only person with the power to akumatize Lila Rossi," said Alya in her video, and she jerked her hands towards the camera to emphasize the obviousness of the statement. "Volpina couldn't even exist without him, first of all. Secondly, Hawkmoth, if he was truly innocent, would not have needed to show himself at all. Remaining unseen is the only way to protect his identity completely. If you ask me, Ladybloggers, he showed up to pull that stunt fight with Conspiracy in order to confuse our heroes. Well, Hawkmoth, they're much smarter than that, and so is the rest of Paris."

"We have to vouch for you," said Adrien, looking urgently between his father and Marinette. "We have to tell everyone you did it for the right reasons. It didn't go to plan, but we can fix it."

Marinette hesitated. She stared at her boyfriend wordlessly for several moments, every once in a while, flicking her gaze at Gabriel, who sat in anticipation of her response. Her mind raced, trying to think up some kind of faultless plan, some clear and easy answer, but her thoughts came up blank. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"It's complicated," she replied, wringing her hands. "Why should you and I, Chat Noir, through the eyes of the rest of Paris, trust Hawkmoth any more than they do? They're going to ask that question."

Adrien looked incredulous. "Well, I'm not sure, because we actually decided to talk to him? Because we took a chance and heard him out?"

"Listen, I do think we should vouch for him, I just think it's too early. This is a delicate situation after all, and Hawkmoth has a lot to make up for." She glanced at her feet. "No offense."

"Believe me, I understand," Gabriel replied. He brought his fingers up to the miraculous still pinned to his shirt. "Does that mean I get to keep this?"

"For the time being."

Nathalie, who had listened to the exchange in silence, chewed on the inside of her cheek and looked away. Her fingernails bit into the sleeve of her husband's jacket. Marinette watched as he took her hand and squeezed it tightly. His grip loosened a moment later when her rigidity failed to ease up.

Hawkmoth's role in all of this was only part of their problems. When Marinette went home that night, she had to factor a third enemy into her thoughts. Going over her notes and her translated grimoire (which she was grateful had not been stolen along with the box, but had been left in her bottom desk drawer), she spent hours trying to formulate a plan that came out vague and unfinished, but the closest thing to a complete idea she could manage under the circumstances.

The next day, she was back at the Agreste house, standing in front of all three of them as they sat on the sofa in the atelier. Adrien held the baby, waving his index finger in front of her face while Marinette flipped the grimoire open to the page she had dog-eared the night before.

"That person you met," she said to Gabriel, "was a sorcerer."

By the look on his face, he didn't seem to know what to make of that information. Neither did anybody else in the room.

"Sorcery is mentioned in here," she began to explain, running her hand down the yellowed page, "But it doesn't go into that much depth. It explains the magic necessary to complete kwami power-ups and to fix damage done to miraculous, but there's little more than a brief overview of what else one can do with miraculous-related magic. I'm sure that stuff has to have its own rulebook."

"It's miraculous-related?" asked Adrien. "I mean, I know we said it seemed like a cataclysm, but that person clearly wasn't transformed." Ladybug and Chat Noir had seen the cloaked figure only briefly. While they were entangled in battle with Volpina, they ran out from an alleyway to the building Hawkmoth and Conspiracy had crashed through. Just by the way they were moving, it was evident that they didn't have a miraculous, at least not one that was activated. They were quick, but not unnaturally so. Not like Volpina, whose blows were lightning-fast and challenging to keep up with.

Marinette shook her head. "I have no idea how they accomplished it, but somehow they had found a way to almost replicate the black cat's power, or so we are assuming, considering whatever they had been trying to do had failed."

"So, there's a way for them to do that without a miraculous?" said Adrien. He turned his head to the side, eyes landing on Plagg. The cat kwami hung in the air beside Tikki, his narrow eyes focused on the floor. "Do you know anything about that?"

"We've seen sorcery," answered Tikki. "But we know very little about it. Less than you. The guardians have always tried to keep us from information that could possibly fall into the wrong hands."

"Nooroo," Gabriel said, and the butterfly kwami blinked in surprise at being addressed among so many other listening ears, "what about you? You were able to tell me what the combined power of the ladybug and the black cat could achieve. That's sensitive information, something you shouldn't have known."

"I couldn't help knowing that, Master," he murmured in reply. He had been looming quite a distance away from the other two kwamis, and now drifted just slightly closer. "We've seen what that power has done in the past. It's best that we are able to warn our holders against pursuing something as dangerous as that."

Gabriel's eyes darkened, and he looked away.

Marinette sighed, closing the book and clutching it to her chest. "It's a lot to juggle," she admitted aloud. "Here's what I'm thinking. We need to find a way to get ahead of, or at least on par with, whatever those villains are capable of. Volpina is no problem. We understand her illusions quite well. She has a few tricks up her sleeve, but they're nothing we can't handle. It's her lies we need to stay sharp about. As for Conspiracy, he's trickier. Chat Noir and I were never able to land a blow on him, ourselves, but you managed to get ahold of him," she said, gesturing to Gabriel.

He nodded. "He disappeared, but it slowed the fight at least."

"So when it comes to the sorcerer," Marinette continued. "We'll have to try and figure out some sorcery. If we can't do it ourselves, we can at least try to understand how they do it. And that's where you come in."

Nathalie blinked at her. The dark-haired woman, true to form, sat with her arms crossed against her chest, utterly silent throughout the length of the discussion despite the unease evident in her visage. Her blue gaze hardened as Marinette nudged the grimoire in her direction. "Me?" She reluctantly unfolded her arms and accepted the book, running her hand down the front cover.

Marinette nodded. "Yes, you. Mrs. Agreste, I know you aren't interested in wiedling the peacock miraculous ever again." Nathalie's brows pinched together at this. "But luckily, with Hawkmoth in the position to help out Chat Noir and myself for a little longer, we'll be able to utilize akumas for their correct purpose, to create allies." She lowered her voice sympathetically. "That means we don't need Mayura. But we still need you." Gabriel glowered at her. She added, "For _real_."

Nathalie was gazing past the grimoire and onto the floor. Gabriel put a hand on her shoulder and watched the flight of thought across her face. Marinette couldn't read it, but he seemed to be able. His eyes sharpened and flicked up.

Finally, Nathalie said, "If you really need me, then who am I to refuse?"

"Are you sure?" Gabriel murmured.

Something was shared between them. A stillness settled over the atelier, broken by the baby's tiny cooes at Adrien. Then, Nathalie replied, "No. I am not sure about any of this. But as much as I would prefer normalcy, that's not in the cards for us. Besides," she set the book on her lap and adjusted Gabriel's lapel, "I have never been one to stand to the side for very long. If you're in this, so am I."

Nathalie invited Marinette upstairs to her office, where they sat in a pair of vintage blue armchairs flanking the room's tall window. Marinette complimented them, to which Nathalie replied that they came from her old apartment, a couple of the only things she kept from before she had married Gabriel. She opened the grimoire back to the dog-eared page and looked at Marinette for guidance, appearing reluctant, but not unwilling.

At first, when Marinette opened her mouth, she failed to speak. The words lurched at the tip of her tongue, and all that escaped was an empty breath. She was still very unused to being alone with Nathalie, and she couldn't help but be reminded of the last time something of importance had been discussed between them.

"Marinette?" Nathalie prompted softly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just - Before we start, I wanted to apologize for the whole ordeal with, you know, offering you the peacock miraculous. It was thoughtless of me."

Nathalie was taken aback. She turned her head away. "Oh."

"And I appreciate you agreeing to help me now. I know you're not doing this for the hell of it. I hope I didn't back you against a corner."

"No, you didn't. It's fine, Marinette. Don't worry about it." She seemed to know that the smile she plastered on wasn't very convincing, because she added, "None of this is your fault. It's where we're at. And who knows, maybe it was fate that you decided to offer us the miraculous, considering what came next."

Marinette didn't have the heart to explain that it wasn't fate at all, but senseless mistrust. Mistrust she was forced to set aside anyway. She said, attempting to move on from the subject, "I'm asking you to do this, because you've at least been exposed to sorcery in the past," Marinette said. She removed her phone from her pocket and sent Nathalie the translated version of the grimoire that had been given to her by Master Fu before he named her the new guardian and left Paris. "It was only one potion, but that's essentially what you'll be learning to do if we are to keep up with the sorcerer Hawkmoth met. If there's even one thing we can gather from what little we have that can help us out, it will serve us well."

On the marked page, there was a pattern of different blots of color, an indication of the shades of potions when they had been correctly concocted. Her eyes flicked across her phone screen. "There was a mention on this page that most magic is either interacting with, or deriving its power from the miraculous, and it's the best clue I have as to how to find out what's going on here. Kwami power-ups, healing potions, and spells intended to fix a damaged miraculous would all fall into the former category. But to derive magic, from the miraculous - well, I'd assume that refers to transformations, but that seems so obvious. Too obvious." She blinked, frowning at the vague language. "There must be more to this, considering what that sorcerer was able to do."

Nathalie blew a quick breath at the short strands of hair that had come loose from her bun. "Maybe we should start simple, right? The recipe you gave me was a healing potion, specifically tailored to fix physical damage transferred from the miraculous to the body wearing it. Maybe I should start with other healing potions, assuming they're all concocted similarly. A potion to heal a cataclysm, maybe? An antidote that reverses the paralyzing effect of the bee?"

"I like the way you think. That's a good place to start."

Nathalie brought a hand thoughtfully to her chin, "But that is different from the healing potion you gave me, isn't it? My medicine doesn't - didn't - it didn't require any sort of power taken from the miraculous itself. Something that could heal a cataclysm would have to come at least partially from the ladybug's power, right?"

"Oh, I suppose that's right." Marinette scanned the translations on her phone. "I suppose I never considered you could create a potion meant to fix one specific type of damage caused by the black cat miraculous. When I dispel my lucky charms, they repair everything that had been under threat." As Marinette scrolled through the information, she remembered Gabriel's recollection of the Sorcerer's actions. "So, you're thinking that deriving power from the miraculous itself could allow one to perform its abilities."

"In a limited way, yes."

Marinette frowned. For that to be true, for the sorcerer to have been replicating the power of a cataclysm, they would have needed to have access to the black cat miraculous. That was impossible. And not to mention, their spell didn't seem to work anyway. So who knew if such a thing was even achievable? Marinette sighed and ran her fingers through her bangs.

"Marinette, you seem unconvinced."

"No, no, I'm only...confused. We have so little to work with."

"You've sent me the translations. I know you already have a lot to think about when it comes to this entire situation. I hope you won't be keeping yourself up at night worrying about this as well. I'll take care of it. I'll do the best I can."

Surprised by how hopeful she seemed to be, Marinette gave her a grateful smile. Adrien had always said of Nathalie that she tried to be supportive and reassuring in times of need. Until this moment, Marinette had never witnessed it herself. She used to know Nathalie as the cold, austere assistant of Gabriel Agreste, existing on the periphery of Adrien's life. Then everything changed, hard and fast; her health declined, she nearly lost her life, and Marinette became more familiar with the image of someone just as distant and five times as sullen. Despite her appreciation for Nathalie's encouragement now, she couldn't help but be a little skeptical. There were more cracks in the veneer than there used to be, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be times when Nathalie would try to make it seem unblemished. Adrien had said, "She's still learning that it's okay for her to not be okay all the time. She was our strength for so long." Marinette could admire the determination exhibited in the moment, but she was beginning to understand that in a time of need, Nathalie might only be choosing to hide behind the hopeful facade of the person she believed everyone needed to see.

Keeping this in mind, Marinette was hesitant to leave their conversation there, but she got to her feet and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Please," she insisted, "don't hesitate to let me know if you need any help. I know it's a while since you've had to make that potion."

Nathalie glanced down. "Right."

"Hm. I guess by the time I gave you the instructions, you probably didn't need it for much longer," said Marinette. "If you want, before I go, I can show you how to make it just to get you comfortable with the process again." She held out her hands, expecting Nathalie to hand over the grimoire.

But the older woman didn't budge. "No, it's fine. I remember how to make it."

"Are you sure? It was a pretty complicated recipe. We can just go over it once to refresh your -"

"Believe me, I definitely remember." There was something heavy in her voice, and the bright glint in her eye had dimmed. Marinette felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. It didn't take very long at all to thwart Nathalie's calm, and she hadn't been trying to. Somehow they'd breached a sensitive topic. Marinette would have felt strange to simply walk out of the room now, but she felt even stranger to be holding Nathalie's forlorn gaze. She looked at the wall, and the few framed photographs of the Agreste family hanging there.

"Oh, well that's good." It was all she could think to say. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Marinette."

"Do you still...need the potion?"

Nathalie scraped her fingernails down the front cover on the grimoire. She stood from her seat and walked past Marinette, shutting the office door. Turning around, she said, "Please, don't mention it to Adrien, alright? He doesn't need to worry about me right now. Frankly, neither do you."

Marinette was alarmed. "Wait, are you still sick?"

"No. No, I'm not sick anymore. I haven't been sick since -" Dismay flashed across her face. "I haven't been sick from the peacock miraculous since last year. That's my point. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Then why do you…?"

Nathalie gave her a pained look.

Marinette opened the translations on her phone once again and scrolled to the page that explained the potion. She almost felt too uncomfortable to speak, but something was wrong. Something Nathalie wasn't admitting. "When I first found it, I was in such a rush to find a solution. Maybe I should have read more closely."

"What do you mean?"

She squinted at her screen. There didn't seem to be any fine print she missed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Agreste. I know you'd prefer if I didn't know, but as the guardian, I should be aware of anything unusual having to do with magic, and make note of it." She raised her eyes. "Is there a particular reason that you feel the need to use the potion despite being fully recovered? Does it have an addictive quality, or another purpose beyond healing magically-induced illness?"

Nathalie grimaced. "What? No. It - it doesn't do anything, not anymore. I don't feel a difference."

"You don't? Nothing at all?"

She didn't answer.

"Then," Marinette said again, firmer this time, "why do you keep taking it?"

"Because I…"

"Because you…?"

Nathalie folded her arms across her chest and stared at her feet. "It has nothing to do with the magic. At least, I don't believe it does. If there was something you needed to know, I would have told you."

"Did you take it while pregnant?"

This startled her. Her eyes flared, like the bright reflection of light over water. "I…" Face flushing, she admitted, "Yes, I did. Sometimes." She dared to meet Marinette's and clearly didn't like what she saw. Her countenance settled into a dark scowl. "The baby's _fine_, Marinette. _I'm_ fine."

"I feel like I should still be worried, Mrs. Agreste, if over nothing else but your reaction."

Nathalie scoffed, her knuckles whitening. "So thoughtful…" she muttered bitterly.

But Marinette wasn't asked to leave like she expected. Nathalie still stood before the door until she finally continued, eyes never once landing on Marinette across from her. "It's just - I don't know what else to do. It calms me down, at least I tell myself it does. If that's a lie, it's a convincing one. I'm not sick anymore. There's nothing to cure. But life falls apart in other ways. We're in this mess, and now I actually have everything to lose, you know." Her tone was grave, and she screwed her eyes shut. "A long time ago, that magic did make everything better, and even though it's useless now - I know it is - I still need...I need something to convince myself that it's not all going to fall apart again."

"Is it like a compulsion?"

"Who cares what it's like?" snapped Nathalie. "I've told you more than you need to know. Leave it be. You wanted my help, and you can be confident that I'll know what I'm doing."

Marinette flushed guiltily, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands. Whatever curse of poor luck with Nathalie had been set upon her, she wished it would be eliminated. She just couldn't shake the unease sinking through her body as she nervously dropped her phone into her purse and snapped it closed.

"Please, tell you you can understand where I'm coming from," Nathalie murmured, stepping forward a few paces. "Have you not ever done something irrational and pointless just as a way to know everything is fine, because nothing else can convince you?"

_Yes. I did it to you. _

Tikki's voice echoed in her mind. "_I think you're paranoid, Marinette._"

And Adrien's, "_Don't you trust them?_"

Marinette took a steady breath. "I understand, Mrs. Agreste. I'm sorry. I'll go now."

Nathalie opened the door for her, and she parted with the grimoire. Before descending the staircase to collect Tikki from the atelier and return home, she looked over her shoulder, back at the office. She watched Nathalie sit back down in one of the two blue chairs with her head tilted back, and her hands dragging down the sides of her face.

* * *

Everyone at school wouldn't leave Lila alone. She was flanked by at least three or four classmates at all times, who were endlessly fascinated by the phenomenon of someone being akumatized twice in a row. Marinette was nothing less than disgusted. She certainly couldn't understand why everyone seemed to be behaving like akuma attacks were uncharted territory. _They_ didn't even know how puzzling this situation truly was, not while they believed so firmly that Hawkmoth was the one behind it, that Lila was no one to be suspicious of.

Adrien gave her hand a squeeze every time her gaze drifted towards the crowd. Marinette justified herself by explaining they needed to keep track of the kinds of lies Lila was telling, a point Adrien couldn't really argue with. That was, until the late morning, when Lila started to repeat herself, and loaded up on the pathos to make up for the details she wasn't supposed to know. A lot of people asked about Conspiracy, who she claimed not to remember. By then, Adrien was consistently urging Marinette to quit paying attention, but she noticed the furious green flames blazing in his eyes as he fixed them ahead, grasping all too tightly on some sight in front of him to avoid turning his head to the liar in question.

School was going to be torture if this went on for much longer. Summer break was approaching, but not fast enough. Marinette could only be grateful for the fact that no one seemed to have noticed the sorcerer.

"It's scary," Lila was explaining to the other students several minutes before the start of class. "I don't remember anything while it's happening. But when I watch the news later, and I see myself fighting Ladybug and Chat Noir, oh, it's just awful. You've all been akumatized. I'm sure you can relate. It's terrible to watch yourself turn into a monster, it's terrible to have no control."

Alya was typing on her phone. "Lila, I hope you don't mind me taking notes for the Ladyblog."

"Not at all."

"You've been akumatized twice in a span of four days. Do you think Hawkmoth is specifically targeting you? If so, why?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I - I don't know. Maybe just because he's cruel. Everyone knows I'm really great friends with Ladybug after all. Chat Noir too. I wonder if he thinks it would be harder to fight somebody they're so close to." Lila dropped her face into her hands. "Oh, I'm so stupid. I never should have been so open about our friendship."

"Have you been talking with the heroes about this a lot?" asked Sabrina.

"A little, but unfortunately, I can't be much help to them when there's so little I remember. I feel so bad. I wish I was more useful."

"Don't feel bad, Lila."

"Yeah, there's not much you can do."

Marinette rose from her desk, and when Adrien grabbed her wrist, she shook him off, flashing him a defiant glare. "Yeah. Hawkmoth is cruel," she said aloud, and all eyes including Lila's, landed on her. "But it just doesn't make sense. Why would Hawkmoth akumatize you twice in a row? Why would he akumatize you _at all_? At least as Volpina. Everyone knows about Volpiana."

Lila shrugged. She put on a distressed expression. "I swear, I have no idea. Maybe it has something to do with the emotions that I'm feeling. The first time I became Volpina, it was because I was new to Paris, and trying to make friends, but I was ostracized and alone."

Marinette was prepared to give a retort, but she wasn't quick enough. "Have you been feeling that way lately, Lila?" asked Rose, leaning in and taking the auburn-haired girl by the upper arm. "Is that why you've been akumatized twice in the last week?"

Lila tilted her head. "Maybe…maybe a little."

Marinette fumed at the way her classmates flocked to offer their support. They were all too entranced by her pitiful front to notice, but Adrien got to his feet and nudged her. "Marinette, try to lay low. I know this sucks, but -"

"I'm not gonna let her get away with lying," she interrupted. "I need to make sure of something. Give me a minute."

After exhaling deeply, Marinette took a few slow and quiet steps towards Lila's desk. The girl's bookbag sat on the floor between Rose and Juleka. She tried to ignore the burn of Adrien's eyes on her back as she cautiously pulled the bag towards her and flipped it open. Her fingers quivered as she reached inside.

"_What are you…?_"

He didn't stop her. Marinette gave herself five seconds, holding her breath as she fished through the bag without looking. Folder. Pen. Pen. Eraser. Tablet. Chapstick, perhaps. And then, at last, her fingers became tangled in a metal chain sitting at the bottom of the bag. She pulled out the exact item she was looking for, an orange pendant shaped like a curled fox tail. Her heart skipped a beat as she laid her eyes on it. The prayer weighed heavy in her chest, that this was the real thing. _Please, please_.

She slipped the bag back into place, hiding the necklace in the pocket of her jeans. Juleka glanced down as she set it back. And Marinette winced.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Just saw the bag had some dirt on it." It was a weak excuse, but she wiped it with her palm for good measure.

Juleka narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She turned back to Lila.

Marinette returned to Adrien. "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Bugaboo," he whispered gently, "that might not even be _it_."

"I _have_ to make sure. I didn't feel any other pieces of jewelry in that bag, so she must not have brought any of the others with her. If someone asks where I've gone, you know what to say."

He kissed her cheek. "Go on."

Marinette walked speedily to the bathroom. She closed herself in a stall and waited for the student standing at the mirror to leave before she took the pendant out of her pocket. Tikki flew into view.

"This is risky, Marinette."

"Yes, but I _have_ to know."

"Well, hurry. You wouldn't want Lila to notice it's missing."

Unclasping the chain, Marinette brought both ends of the necklace behind her head. Her heart was pounding. Her fingers trembled despite her commands that they become steady.

_Please, come on._

She fastened the chain and dropped the fox tail against her chest. Marinette's pulse lurched, sending a pinch through her chest in the half-second that followed. She waited, for just that much time, to catch the bright gold-orange glow of magic reflected weakly in the shiny silver surface of the stall door, but it didn't come. The pendant was just that - a pendant. Not a miraculous.

Her heart broke.

"Trixx," she heard herself croak, as if speaking the kwami's name would make it manifest where it simply wasn't to be found. "No…"

Tikki watched Marinette sadly. "Oh. I'm sorry, Marinette."

She leaned against the wall, running her fingers down the lifeless piece of plastic. "I don't understand. If this isn't it - where can it be? Why wouldn't she have it with her? Why would she bother to bring -" Marinette cut herself off, knowing that if she spoke any further, the tears that had gathered along her bottom lashes would break free. She took in a heavy inhale and swallowed roughly.

"Class starts in a couple minutes, Marinette," whispered Tikki. "We should head back."

She nodded solemnly, and as she swallowed the sob rising in her throat, a numb feeling replaced the pain.

When she returned to the classroom, Adrien read the look on her face right away, his own shifting to mirror it. Marinette crouched behind Lila's desk once again and dropped the pendant into the bag carelessly. She was noticed this time, and when Lila met her eyes with a sharp warning, Marinette said, "Sorry. I borrowed a pen. Hope you don't mind."

She didn't wait for a response. She rose to her feet and went to sit at her own desk. The conversation died as the class began, only to resume again when it was over. Marinette didn't listen. Adrien didn't either. He put his arm around her shoulder, and they walked to the car in silence.

She was beginning to feel the impact of hitting all these walls.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Helpfully, Nathalie's translated version of the grimoire forsook the riddles that once complicated the process of making magic potions. She spent the better part of her time away from the baby sitting at her desk, the grimoire propped up against her computer screen and translations opened on her tablet while she fiddled with a disparate range of materials that she mixed into bottles and vials.

She mixed together almost every type of kwami power-up potion. Her initial intention had been to create only one and study it as much as she could, but quickly she realized there was almost nothing she could gather from such a basic and inflexible concoction. The task certainly seemed not to have anything to do with whatever the Sorcerer had attempted against her husband. A very small part of her was relieved by that. Gabriel's description of the event had chilled her to the bone; if the Sorcerer had been attempting to destroy the miraculous (or worse, _him_), Nathalie was ever so slightly comforted that she wasn't heading in the direction of proving those objectives feasible.

The rest of her, however, knew that the only way to be useful was to make sense of this magic and advance everyone's understanding of its capabilities, and one power-up wasn't going to manage that. To test whether she had gotten the first mixture right, Nathalie handed it over to Nooroo, whose big eyes reflected the pretty blue sheen of the vial. As she swallowed, intricate lines started to draw themselves across his wings and down his forehead, appearing like trails of snowflakes.

"Oh, wow," she breathed, surprised by the alteration. "You look lovely, Nooroo."

He shyly admired his own wings. "It's been several hundred years since I've transformed," he murmured. "You humans like to have all of the fun."

She smiled at him. "Well, that one was a success. I don't know how much I can gain from this, though."

"That's okay. Take it one step at a time. Keep practicing."

Nathalie liked Nooroo. She didn't have much of an opportunity to interact with him all those years ago thanks to how close Gabriel preferred to keep him. He was undeniably better company than Plagg, naturally soft-spoken and kind, and though she enjoyed his presence, a feeling of guilt deepened within her chest for the way they used to treat him. She faltered her gaze at his demonstration of an innate tendency towards forgiveness, adding it to the list in the back of her mind of the many gifts she didn't deserve to receive.

Nooroo insisted he wasn't supposed to know the ingredients, so he kept his back to her while she worked. She made a few more potions, the water, the space, the earth. Each one she tested on Nooroo proved to have been correctly mixed, though it wasn't too difficult considering the hardest work had been done for her. She was in the middle of making the fire potion when she paused and glanced up at the kwami with a sigh.

"What is it?" he wondered, turning to face her. Still donning his earth transformation, his wings looked like thin sheets of crystal, reflecting the light from the window onto her hands and making them appear a luminescent purple.

"There has to be a way for people without a miraculous to interact with magic," she said. A bottle of olive oil sat to her left, one of the ingredients of the fire potion. "These power-ups are for you, but do you think there are ways to make some than enhance human abilities?"

"In the same way?"

"Yes."

Nooroo shrugged. "Not that I've personally seen. Quite honestly, I doubt it."

"You do?"

He floated forward and leaned over the grimoire, gazing at Nathalie solemnly. "Like it's said -" he tapped the page "-kwamis are the source of all miraculous power. Even the potions you give us are essentially worthless without our physical forms to interact with them. And your healing potion, as well: it stopped having an effect on you as soon as it had erased the damage caused by Duusu's corrupted power."

Nathalie was staring at her glowing purple fingers. Her eyebrows knitted. "No, maybe that isn't right."

"My Lady?"

"I used to think the same, but now I might believe otherwise, that it was the miraculous, not Duusu, that was hurting me," she insisted. "It was the brooch that maintained the physical damage. The brooch that Marinette had to fix." She scrolled through the notes on her tablet and pressed her finger against the screen once she had reached the page explaining how to deal with a broken miraculous. "There's not a word about healing the kwami itself. I'm aware that they can become ill, but that's a completely different problem, isn't it?"

"Well, yes…"

"Anyway, my point is that the miraculous is more than a vessel for a kwami's magic. There's something about it that has enchanting properties in and of itself."

Nooroo shook his head. "I don't know how the peacock brooch was broken. There's not much I can tell you with unwavering certainty. But here is what I know: the miraculous is a bridge between kwami and holder. I am willing to bet your illness _was_ caused by Duusu's power, that the damage to the brooch meant more than what your body could handle was seeping through it when you were transformed."

"More than what…" Nathalie's hands balled into fists and she gnawed on the inside of her cheek. The butterfly kwami's gentle, well-meaning voice echoed sharper in her mind as she processed his explanation. Something in her chest tightened, sending a pang into her heart. All those months of pain, and to not know exactly where it came from….It should put her at peace to take Nooroo's word for what it was, but the row of colorful potions sitting at her fingertips urged her to continue striving towards a different breakthrough.

What was worse was that years ago she would have readily agreed with him, back when it didn't make a difference how she was dying, back when she could smile and nod at any conclusion because she thought her fate was sealed no matter what. Mayura's magic used to burst freely from her miraculous the more she strained it and the less her mind could withstand the emotion she harbored within. It was surreal and terrifying to watch her pain leave her body like that, in a burst of light and heat from right above her heart. No, she could not deny Nooroo, not with those memories. Nathalie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head. If the damaged peacock wasn't a solid enough basis for her speculation, she would need to find something else. Coming up empty-handed wasn't an option.

"What is wrong?" asked Nooroo. He released the grimoire and came an inch or two forward. "I've said something, haven't I? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's nothing."

Nooroo stared at her clenched fists. He didn't argue.

She paused for a moment. As she watched the faint vertical oscillation of his small form in front of her face, her thoughts drifted to the one who possessed his brooch and to the very power that allowed him to set this ordeal in motion several years ago. She tried to bury her thoughts on the peacock's wounds, focus on the way it had made her feel stronger. "Nooroo, the miraculous has power even while you are not absorbed into it."

He tilted his head. "I suppose."

"Yes, think about it. Gabriel and I were capable of detecting emotions without being transformed. All it took was wearing the miraculous. Being transformed made the experience more vivid, yes, but there had been times when I was nearly bowled over by emotions that weren't mine, simply because the brooch was pinned to my person." She adjusted her glasses. The momentum of her new thought process obscured the unease tangled throughout her mind. She continued to seize it. "And there was that one sentimonster - Feast, I remember - whose amok I could sense despite not being transformed as Mayura. I could feel its hunger like a whisper in my mind."

"Yes, that's true," Nooroo said. "I hadn't thought about that. None of the miraculous seem to share that particular ability of the butterfly and peacock."

"But they have to possess some amount of power in their own right, something that can interact with de-transformed bodies. If the miraculous can, there has to be other magic that is capable of the same, right?"

"I...wouldn't be sure."

"What I mean to say is that kwamis can't be the only source of power if this is true. It must be more complicated than that."

The conversation ended there. A knock cracked against the door. Nathalie rose to her feet as Gabriel entered with the baby squirming in his arms.

"She's been fussy," he announced, and in response Anaīs released a tiny, frustrated cry.

Nathalie inhaled briskly. A glance towards the window informed her of the way the light had mellowed over the last several hours. "Oh, what time is it? I need to feed her. I've been at this all morning."

"Almost eleven. How is it going?" He handed the child off. She fidgeted like mad, her little fists balled with anger and demand, her nose wrinkled. Nathalie tickled Anaīs's cheek, and the infant turned her head to try to fasten lips over her mother's fingertip, letting out a peeved whine when she tasted empty air.

Smiling, Nathalie answered, "About as well as you might expect. Nooroo enjoys transforming."

The butterfly kwami flapped his wings from where he had flown to sit on top of the computer. Gabriel dipped his chin upon noticing the glitter of their jewel-like texture. "He closely resembles his miraculous."

Bashfully, Nooroo answered, "I thought the same."

Nathalie took a seat on one of her blue chairs to breastfeed and Gabriel took the other. "I was in the middle of working on the fire potion."

"Sounds thrilling."

"Yes, about as thrilling as the water, ice, space, and earth."

"How are you feeling up here?"

She gazed at Anaīs suckling. The baby was beginning to settle down, stopping her restless movement. Her hair, raven as her mother's, poked out from beneath the purple hat she was wearing. "I suppose it beats sitting around biting my nails in anticipation for the end of the world, which is how the last week has felt."

Gabriel gave a tight grunt of agreement. "A couple minutes before I came to check on you, I was sensing some stress." Nathalie raised her eyes to see him gesturing towards his miraculous, which was hidden beneath a cream-colored tie. "This isn't too much, is it?"

Nathalie shook her head perhaps a second too late, because he didn't appear to be convinced, but not wanting to address his concerns, she said, "Nooroo and I were actually talking about that power of yours right before you came in. I'm certain that magic has to be a lot less simply than our experience has ever made it out to be."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It's good in that I know this task won't be fruitless, but frustrating in that I have no idea where to begin."

"Can Marinette offer you no other help?"

Nathalie turned back to her baby to find her pale blue eyes gazing right at her. She looked at the floor instead. A familiarly bitter taste crawled up from her throat and washed over her tongue. "No. She's given me all that she has."

"Well, in that case, we'll hope it's enough."

Several minutes later, when Anaīs was finished feeding, Nathalie handed her back to her father. "Would you like to watch Nooroo transform into a fire-kwami?"

Gabriel's hand curved around the baby's head. "That sounds like it could be dangerous."

"It isn't, Master," said Nooroo. A moment later, his crystal-wings flashed, returning to normal as he dismissed the earth power-up. "The only thing that will change is my appearance."

Nathalie added the last few ingredients to the mixture she had already begun, a drop of oil, some ginger root, and a pinch of ash, which she had scraped out of the living room fireplace. A previously colorless blend, after absorbing the final additives, turned bright red, brighter than blood or rubies or lipstick. The bottle sizzled. A short trail of smoke rose out of its neck and disappeared shortly after.

She smirked at Gabriel. "As they say, ta-da."

"You look like a mad scientist."

"You've got the 'mad' right."

She gave the bottle to Nooroo, who swallowed about half of it. Nathalie and Gabriel flinched back as his wings appeared to burst into light with a deep shriek of energy like the hiss of an akuma's creation. The ends of his limbs darkened until they looked as though they had been bathed in embers. As he flapped his transformed wings, they appeared like two broad flames waving in opposite winds upon his back. Gold firelight flickered across the faces of her awestruck husband and daughter.

"I wasn't expecting that." Nathalie flipped the page of the grimoire. An illustration of a fire-kwami depicted Pollen, whose usually black stripes were painted in dark red. No fire to be seen.

"This one is my favorite," Nooroo admitted. He looked between his master and Nathalie. "I recommend not allowing Plagg to get his hands on this one unless absolutely necessary. He has a tendency to start fires."

"I thought you said this wasn't dangerous," growled Gabriel, pressing Anaīs to his chest.

"It's not dangerous when I use it, Master."

Nathalie took the bottle back and stared at its glowing contents. Brilliant and colorful as the medicine she hid away in her bedside drawer, the bitter taste of which still lingered in her mouth from earlier. Their inexplicable coloring, the way they changed and glowed despite being made up of unremarkable materials. How do oil and ash create something like this? Seaweed and joyful tears? It didn't make sense.

"Marinette said something about magic either interacting with or coming from the miraculous," she murmured, "and that this falls under that first category. But how? What gives this transformative power _before_it comes into contact with you?" She eyed Nooroo with intensity, as if his startled stare back at her would provide any answer to her question.

"Curious, indeed," Gabriel said. "Is there really no explanation in the grimoire?"

"Well…" She scrolled through her tablet until she reached the introductory page on the kwami power-ups. "I highlighted a sentence earlier, but unfortunately it isn't very expansive. Here - 'Power-enhancing potions allow a holder to become suited to different natural environments by equipping their kwami with the magical properties of the ancient elements: fire, water, ice, earth, space, blood, and spirit.'"

Gabriel narrowed his eyes in thought. "So, that means there is magic existing independent of the miraculous, magic found in the world around us."

A spark of triumph warmed her face. "I guess so."

"What if that magic only reveals itself when it comes into contact with or in close proximity to kwamis or to the miraculous?"

"That explains the power-ups…" Her grip tightened over the bottle, skin shining faintly red where it curled around glass. A familiar sight in blue. _But it doesn't explain my medicine_. _I've been healed for a year, but the magic still makes itself known_. "Very well, that's a solid thought. Now there's the question of how all of these disparate ingredients somehow replicate the power of 'ancient elements'."

She went over her lists. In Gabriel's arms, the baby was getting drowsy, eyelids falling closed and her round cheek plumping out as her head lolled against her shoulder. The oversized flaming butterfly floating on fire in the center of the room was not enough to keep her interests.

"There appears to be a remnant of every element within each potion," she observed aloud. "Ash for fire, a tear for water, snowmelt for ice - I used an ice cube, worked just fine - pollen for earth, dust for blood -"

"Dust for blood?"

"I assume because of the dead skin."

Gabriel's revolted expression took her out of her head for a moment. Suddenly, she was beginning to remember the absurdity of the situation.

So, she sank into her chair, quietly eyeing Nooroo's blazing wings, the vials half-filled with mysteriously glowing substances, the archaic encrypted book, and finally her face in the black reflection of her lifeless computer screen, the features of which were mostly obscured by darkness but visibly perturbed. She shook her head and tried to disregard the mess in front of her, choosing instead to lean back and stare at the ceiling. Maybe she could make some kind of sense out of the blank white space above her head. "It's interesting," she went on, hyper-aware of the tone of her voice as she tried to keep it level. "These potions create some kind of relationship between the kwamis and the elements, and the potions don't change regardless of which kwami will be consuming them. Yet, they are bound by different miraculous and different powers. That seems to indicate to me that, ultimately, the elements have nothing to do with kwamis or miraculous magic, no more than they have anything to do with me."

Gabriel sounded rather distant when he replied, "Maybe…"

Her thumb ran up and down the glass of the bottle still in her hand. "Nooroo," she muttered after a moment.

"Yes, My Lady?"

She sat forward and held up the potion. "What would happen if _I _drank this?"

Nooroo's wings flared with surprise. "Why would you do that?"

"I want to know how it's possible to interact with magic without a miraculous."

He winced. "I wouldn't recommend that."

"Neither would I," Gabriel snapped.

"Would it do to me what it does to you, Nooroo?"

The kwami's mouth hung open as he struggled to give her an answer. Gabriel stepped around the desk, his blue-gray eyes hard as stone. "Nathalie, you've been busy with this all morning. You should take a break."

"I can't," she told him.

"You need to."

"No, what I _need_," she began, leaning towards him, "is to figure this out. The sooner I do that, the sooner we can get out of this."

"That is not your responsibility alone. Please, Nathalie, put down the potion. Continue later."

"Why? What would I do instead? _Pretend_ everything is fine? When it's not?" The ice in her husband's face split apart, melting under the wild heat in her glare. He was rigid with shock for a heartbeat; then, softening, he knelt before her carefully. The baby was asleep now, still clutching a button on his shirt. Nathalie envied the child's peace.

"My dear." He freed a hand and set it on her knee. "You're overwhelmed."

"I'm okay. I can withstand _overwhelmed_."

"Please, you don't have to."

She cupped his jaw, rolled her chair a few inches closer. "What do you mean?" she whispered. "What do you mean I don't have to? Look at where we are."

Something within him deflated.

"What else am I going to do if I can't do this? Am I meant to watch you and Adrien leave the house every time the city is attacked and just - hope for the best? Do you know how awful it was to do that last time?"

"Nathalie, love, I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No, don't apologize. I don't blame you. I just - I just can't do nothing. I can't. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something went wrong, if I hadn't done enough to try to stop it."

"Don't take on that burden," he urged her. He took her hand off his face and kissed her palm.

"I don't want to. I'd give anything not to be in this situation. I had normal long enough to develop a taste for it, you know."

"We'll get it back."

She closed her eyes to block out the hopeful light in his face. If she let herself believe it, she would fall apart were it to fail her. Nathalie should be unlearning how to count herself out of hope, but tragedy was far too familiar a monster to turn her back on.

"Love." He squeezed her hand.

"I have a question," she whispered.

"What is it?"

"How did the Sorcerer use that potion again?" she asked quietly.

He hesitated, and she presumed he was surprised at her for bringing it up. "I think they recited some kind of spell, then the bottle shattered, and the potion floated around their hand."

"I don't have a spell," she mumbled. One eye opened to glance at the fire potion still in her hand. Then at Nooroo. _But I have…_

"Nathalie—"

She pulled her hand away from him and uncapped the bottle. Nooroo froze, a sound of protest making it only halfway up his throat. Gabriel leaped up and grabbed her arm, but mindful of the infant who had just jerked awake at his sudden movement, he took several paces back a second later, realizing he was only in the way.

Nathalie didn't do what either of them expected, which would have been to drink the rest of it. Instead, standing from her chair, she poured it out over her fingers all at once. A cry of agony sprung from her lips. She hadn't expected it to burn. Tears welled in her eyes, and she dropped the bottle to pound her fist against the desk. The other glasses rattled. The empty ones toppled over, rolling onto the floor.

Gabriel tried to come forward to help, but she shook her head at him. She raised her eyes to Nooroo, who trembled with fear.

"My Lady!"

"Nooroo," she grunted from behind gritted teeth, holding out her burning hand. The red mixture dripped from her fingertips. As soon as it lost contact with her skin, its color vanished. "Come here."

He was reluctant, but he drifted forward without argument. An inch of space existed between him and Nathalie's fingers when she decided to reach out and touch the top of his head. The heat her hand exploded up her arm and into her chest, and in unison, Nooroo's wings of fire blazed until they were twice their usual size. He gasped and launched himself halfway across the room.

The potion on her hands flickered like cinders smoldering in reverse. Just as the agony in her breast was fading, a palmful of fire burst into life. An instinctual wave of her hand did not dispel them. She paused, breathing heavily, and stared at the light she had created.

"No way…"

Gabriel said under his breath. The baby was wide-eyed now, staring at the flames sitting with such ease in her mother's hand. He approached slowly, protecting Anaīs's head. "How did you…? Does it hurt?"

"No," she breathed. The burning had ceased. Nathalie twisted her hand, and the flames shifted about her fingers. A sudden panic quickened the pace of her heart. Her arm tensed. Quickly, she clenched her fist, and the flames extinguished, not even leaving a breath of smoke behind.

Nothing remained of the potion. Across the room, Nooroo's appearance returned to normal, and twitches of fear unsettled his ordinary purple wings.

Nathalie dropped into her chair, and it rolled back to bump the wall. She studied her hand, but not a burn grazed her skin; now they only trembled with amazement. Something frigid congealed in the blood that had seconds ago been so fiery and unbearable. She recalled Gabriel's description of the Sorcerer's attack and wondered if what she had just inflicted upon herself was anything like that faux cataclysm.

He was right at her side now. The baby looked about as upset as she had appeared when Gabriel had first walked in.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Anaīs. "I'm sorry, baby."

"Are you okay, Nathalie?"

"Yeah."

"You're frightened," he said, earning a pitiful laugh from her. She kept forgetting about his miraculous.

"No," she protested, "Only...bewildered."

"How did you do that?"

"I don't know. I -" She tried to comfort the baby by faintly strumming her fingertips down the length of her arms. "I was just thinking about the Sorcerer's potion being on their hand, that if they had created some kind of derivative of the miraculous's power that maybe I could do the same thing with the potion, and -" Nathalie paused, blinking. "Maybe that's it."

In spite of Gabriel's plea for her to remain seated, she stood up again and grabbed her tablet. "But instead of a spell being the catalyst for the reaction, it was my contact with Nooroo. I don't know if these situations are totally comparable, but it seems to me we both had a concoction with previously existing magical properties that required some sort of additional intervention in order to be activated. The kwami power-ups are meant to represent the natural elements, and the Sorcerer's potion, miraculous magic. I wonder if there was some extra step to creating it. Either way, that information isn't in my hands. But I might be able to figure it out. Like this fire came from ash, their cataclysm might have come from another."

"Nathalie."

She turned around. Gabriel's stare was dark with reluctance. Having finished writing down her discoveries, she set the tablet down between a pair of fallen vials, not breaking his gaze. Even without a miraculous of her own, she could sense something deeply fearful within him. The storm clouds that had gathered behind those oceanic irises of his cast a dark gray shadow upon their seas, stirring up powerful waves: crests of love and troughs of ice-cold fear. Some combination of sympathy and guilt formed a knot of brambles in the pit of her stomach, giving her enough pause to realize she was quickly sinking into exhaustion.

"I'm in awe of you," he told her gently. He closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled away, it was to meet her weary countenance. "Will you take a break now? Please?"

"I…" She should say yes. Screwing her eyes shut, she was able to hinder the worry swirling in his stare, but the fatigue in her bones deepened as well, and she couldn't find it in her to outright refuse.

The mess around her desk made it difficult to leave the room. Nooroo, finally floating back towards them, offered to take care of it.

Gabriel put the baby to bed. He and Nathalie stood above her until she was fast asleep, Nathalie humming her lullaby, the words flitting dreamily through her head.

_When the clouds come in  
__They'll blacken out the light  
__The rain will soon begin  
__But all will be alright…_

_Someday, the storm will end..._

A few minutes later, Nathalie lay curled up beneath her own sheets. She squinted into the pale daylight surrounding her like a mist, never able to close her eyes for long. Each time she did, her own mind startled her back to alertness, devoured by thoughts of her mission, of magic, of fire, until they left with the darkness.

_Someday, the storm will end…  
__Someday, we'll start again…_

* * *

Several days ago, Gabriel had asked Nooroo to find Conspiracy.

Everyone else had been puzzled by the request, but he explained that it was Nooroo's acute ability to sense and track emotions that allowed him to discover the guardian's identity nearly two years ago. If he had been able to find Marinette then, despite not knowing the guardianship had been passed down to her, he should be able to locate Conspiracy, or even the Sorcerer.

Though Nooroo had tried, he was unable to detect anything definitive. "I don't know what they want," he had explained. "I could find the guardian because I know a guardian's responsibilities, I know her motivations. I don't know what these supervillains are after."

The ladybug and cat miraculous was suggested to him, but after a second try, there was still no luck. Lila, of course, he could find at once, but there was nothing that could be done about the girl yet. For his nonperformance, Nooroo apologized, and everyone reassured him that he didn't need to fret.

But Nathalie had noticed the way Gabriel's visage darkened. She approached him slowly, set a hand on his back, and he told her,

"They are bigger than us."

And she hadn't known what he meant at first, but she was beginning to understand. She was beginning to see it everywhere. She recognized it in herself, this devastating smallness, this deprival of control. Hawkmoth used to be the one pulling the strings, but that had changed. The fate of his family had rested solely in his hands for so long, and now he had nothing but his love and fear to drive him, powerful but cripplingly immaterial weapons.

Ultimately, the ones that saved her.

"The problem is they might not be enough this time."

_They might not be enough to define us_.

* * *

She didn't notice herself fall asleep, but a soft voice coming from the other side of the room slid through the quiet like a wind at her back. She opened her eyes to find that not much changed. Still facing the window, she saw that the clouds had thinned and the room was just a touch brighter. But not much time had passed. Gabriel was speaking. It took her a moment to key into his words.

"...needs to rest. Not now, Adrien."

"I understand."

_Adrien?_

He must have been home for lunch. Nathalie turned over to catch him at the door, just leaving the room. "Wait."

"Oh, you're awake," he exclaimed, spinning back around. Plagg leaned against the doorframe, apparently disinterested in the exchange as he gnawed on a wedge of his favorite cheese.

"Yeah," she murmured, feeling for her glasses on the bedside table. She hadn't realized how tired she was until she had sat up. Her head was in a fog. She felt heavy. "But I'm okay. What did you want?"

"I was just asking Father if you two wanted to join me for lunch, but he told me you had a busy morning."

She gaped at him. "Really? You want to eat with us?"

"Why not?"

Nathalie slipped the glasses back on her face and blinked the rest of the blurriness from her eyes. In a low voice, she wondered, "You're not still angry?"

His gaze dropped to his feet, grasp tightening around the strap of the beg he still carried around his shoulder. "What's the use of that?" he asked, half-addressing himself. "We've all got worse things to worry about. It's not like these villains have anything to do with our...complicated family drama."

Gabriel, who was sitting up in bed with a tablet in his lap, drew a deep breath. "I hope that means you aren't opposed to Marinette's decision to include us."

"Of course I'm not."

"We never really talked about it."

"No, but-" He crossed his arms and shrugged. "You know I trust her."

That wasn't the answer Gabriel was looking for. He flung a quick glance to Nathalie beside him, and then looked back at his son. "You trusted her when she pulled that stunt the other day?"

"_Father_."

"You tried to defend us, I assume."

"You don't know what she was dealing with," his son admonished.

"It doesn't matter. She got over it when it mattered. What I want to know is if _you _trust us."

"Yes." Here, Adrien looked up again, and Nathalie was reminded so keenly of his mother by the way his green eyes flashed with conviction, and so much of his father by the crispness and brevity of his reply. He went on, "Yes, of course I do. It was wrong of me to take you keeping your involvement with Lila a secret so personally. It's just - she's unpredictable. She's malicious. It was hard for me to make sense of the thought of you willingly working with her."

"Adrien, we're no saints ourselves," Nathalie murmured. Sometimes she wondered if Adrien had ever fully recognized the extent of their wrongdoings, particularly the ones they had committed against him. It felt to her that he was beginning to last week, when he finally understood just how intently they had manipulated and taken advantage of the people close to him.

"But you're not bad people. You've just done bad things."

She winced. "What's the difference?"

"Enough," Gabriel said, setting a hand on Nathalie's thigh. "If you forgive us, Adrien, then there's nothing more to discuss."

His son seemed a little stunned by his severe tone. Even Plagg took a break from devouring his camembert to stare across the room. In the stretch of quiet that followed, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Nathalie drew the covers further up her legs. Something cold and brittle as ice crystallized in the air. Her breath pierced her lungs.

In an unexpectedly fragile voice, hardly above a whisper, Gabriel pressed, "Do you?" He dipped his chin towards his throat. "Do you forgive us?"

Adrien nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Then that's all."

Nathalie reached and squeezed Gabriel's upper arm, gave him a look as if to say, _What's gotten into you?_

But she knew. It was the same thing that scared him when she'd managed to set fire to her hand. Nathalie's gaze faltered to stare at the fingers curled around his bicep, at the absence of burn marks and blisters despite that intense pain she'd felt. She wondered if it was under her skin, somewhere, if it had managed to reach her heart. Just because she couldn't see it now didn't mean it was any less real.

Real as the miraculous pinned below his throat. Real as glass shattering around him and Conspiracy. Real as the doubt the city cast upon his intentions.

Real as the hearts he feared would cease to love him if he didn't do the right thing this time.

"Adrien," she said faintly. "We'll eat with you. Give us a few minutes."

"Yeah, no problem," he replied. "Come on, Plagg."

The black cat kwami eyed the pair with concern as he floated after his holder. Stuffing the rest of his cheese in his mouth, he shut the door behind them.

Gabriel wouldn't meet her eyes once they were alone. He glared towards the foot of the bed, and when he wrinkled his nose, Nathalie couldn't help but smile. Anaīs did the same thing. Despite everything, she knew that most fiercely, Gabriel was terrified of losing his loved ones. Not much had really changed after all.

She brought her unburned hand up to his jaw, turning his head to face her so she could kiss him on the mouth. At once, she could feel him melt against her lips, her touch bearing the weight of his uncertainty. When Nathalie pulled away, she curled her body against his own, resting her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.

"You're better at that than I am," he whispered, breath gliding into her hair.

"Maybe a little."

He slipped his fingers between hers, drew a circle into her palm with his thumb.

Fall apart, fall together, be strong for him, be strong for her, over and over...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"_You're the best miraculous holder I've ever known_."

Marinette wasn't looking at him while he was speaking. She wasn't even sure that he was in the room, but his voice sounded as though he was right in front of her, sitting cross-legged with a warm mug of tea in his hand just as she was, while her eyes were trained forward on the rusty old phonograph sitting on the table.

It was like his presence was stamped to the inside of her eyelids. Every time she blinked, she thought she could see his face. He was in the air, in the steam of her cup, in the gaze of the turtle kwami lingering always at the edge of her vision, never so that she could focus on him totally. And of course, he was in the rumble of that disembodied voice. It wasn't an unsettling thing to her. He wasn't speaking like a ghost after all, he was speaking like himself. He was speaking the way he always had, and he sounded no different invisible. Marinette brought the cup to her lips, but tasted nothing. She couldn't feel the heat of the steam on her skin as it rose into the air. It thickened in front of her eyes until the phonograph and the room disappeared, shrouded behind a screen of smoke that became blacker and only blacker. The force of gravity strengthened against her attempt to raise up her arm. Her fingers clawed through the darkness, trying to scrape against the metal flaring horn.

"_I'm proud of you, Marinette."_

"_Thank you, Master_."

Thank you. The words left with ease. It was almost like it wasn't her mouth that had uttered them. She couldn't taste the smoke on her tongue, so maybe it wasn't smoke at all. Had she dropped her cup? She wasn't holding it anymore. But she never heard it fall. Maybe it had disappeared to the same place he had also gone. So long ago.

Marinette had never noticed herself get to her feet, but now she was walking. And her pace was painfully slow, like she was wading through waist-deep water, like her toes were sinking into mud at the floor of the ocean (pond, lake, river, room?). The black clouds never parted for her. She inched along, trying to reach the table where the phonograph was kept, one arm still outstretched.

"_I can't find it_," she mumbled. Her voice sounded like it was underwater too.

"_You have to. It's yours now."_

"_No, I can't find it._"

Marinette grunted in frustration. Lifting her foot from the floor, placing it down somewhere ahead, lifting the other, placing it down. This was excruciating. Had she bricks strapped to her feet? She started to hear her pulse like a drumbeat beside her ear.

She stopped. The black clouds parted in front of her nose. Her fingers clenched shut over empty air, and there was no phonograph to be found.

No box.

She wasn't in his room anymore. The clouds slinked behind her head, and she was standing in the middle of the road, flanked by stone walls that stretched endlessly towards a sky alight with more stars than she'd ever seen in her life, and it filled her with terror. Something about the devastating magnitude and infinity of the sublime. Marinette tried to turn around, and watch the clouds as they drifted further and further away. But she was paralyzed.

"_It's yours now_."

His voice wasn't right. It was mingled with another.

"_It's mine now_."

Something deep, unnaturally deep. Distorted. No human sounds like that.

Marinette felt eyes on the back of her head. She felt eyes everywhere. Like the clouds had gained a mind, like they were watching her now, studying her, daring her to move, daring her to follow, but she couldn't.

"_You're ready_," he said. "_You're ready_."

But how was that true? She could not even reach for the yo-yo latched to her hip. Yes, there was a yo-yo there, she could feel the weight of it, and the fist still balled in front of her face was red and spotted all of the sudden.

That sharp stare like daggers pressed into her skin, heavy and warm, getting somehow closer and farther away at once, broadening in scope to encompass her in her entirely, zeroing in until she burned like her flesh was being rubbed raw.

Marinette tried to cry for help, but while her breath escaped, her voice did not.

And she could hear his voice too, on the verge of being spoken, some kind of promise he'd never have the chance to give.

_Please, help. Tell me what to do. Tell me I'll be okay. _

From behind, a finger reached between the strands of her hair and brushed against her ear lobe.

Marinette gasped. Paralysis released her as her hand snapped to cover her ear. The dream shattered, bursting into total blackness. She scrambled in her sheets until she was sitting up against the wall, desperately waiting for her eyes to adjust. And then the city lights from outside started trickling through the windows, fainting illuminating her surroundings. There was nobody around her. No one but Tikki, who watched her with wide dark blue eyes.

She waited for her breathing to ease up. Tikki asked if she was okay, in response to which she couldn't quite bring herself to nod. Marinette crawled to the edge of her bed and looked down into her room, searching for anything unusual in the dark. But there was nothing. All was as it was placed when she had turned out the lights. The phonograph sat on the table, empty, of course, and the rest of the room looked perfectly undisturbed.

"Tikki," she sighed, "Will you check under my desk? And in my closet?"

After giving her a wary look, the kwami did so, returning a moment later to inform her holder that nothing at all was out of sorts. "What happened, Marinette? A bad dream?"

"No, no it-" She shook her head, feeling with both hands that her miraculous were still in her ears. "It wasn't bad, it just - it felt like someone was taking my earrings."

Tikki sat herself on Marinette's knee. "Oh. Well, still. It was only a dream."

"I felt someone watching me."

"Watching you?" Tikki glanced over her shoulder, once again ascertaining that the bedroom was empty of anybody but them. "I guess that is a little freaky. But it was still in your head."

"Yeah." She stroked her ears. "Yeah, it was. Everything's fine."

Unready to go back to sleep, she turned on her lamp and tried to recall the details of her dream, perhaps to convince herself that it was, in fact, no different than any other result of random brain activity or subconsciously processed memories. She was already beginning to forget some of the details, like the sound of the distorted voice, the words that were spoken, where she was when her body froze. She clenched and unclenched her fingers to the rhythm of her steady breathing.

One thing she couldn't forget was the feeling of a thousand eyes watching her, and it took her a moment to realize that the weight of that needle-like stare hadn't diminished. Marinette's heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, her blood running cold.

Tikki noticed. "You're pale, Marinette. Do you need some water?"

"I just had a horrible thought, Tikki," she said. Her eyes darted around the room, catching on every shadow, every movement she may have only fabricated in her mind. "Conspiracy."

Her kwami blinked at her. "Marinette, nobody's-"

"No, listen. He can turn invisible. Remember?"

Something weaker than fear yet still very visible flickered across Tikki's expression. Her gaze dropped. "Ah. He can."

"What if he's-"

"Do you really think he's here? Right now?"

Marinette hesitated. The truth was she wasn't sure. Even the feeling of fingers against her ear lobe seemed distant as the rest of dream, quickly fading from the security of her memory. Then again, somebody, be it Lila or Conspiracy or the Sorcerer, had to know who she was. Had to know the identity of the girl keeping the box that had vanished from her possession. Why couldn't they come for her earrings now? They wouldn't be the first to consider it.

She drew a pillow into her lap and hugged it close, her gaze failing to focus on anything around her. "Geez, I...I have no idea."

Tikki drew closer til their foreheads touched. "For what it's worth, I don't feel like anybody's here. I didn't wake up until you did."

"No?"

"No. Everything seems normal to me."

Marinette bit her lip uncertainly.

"Think of it this way," murmured Tikki. "How could Conspiracy even reach such a delicate place as your ears without you feeling his wings first? Those things are huge and cumbersome, and I doubt he'd even be able to touch your miraculous without his feathers getting in the way."

Marinette shook her head. Tikki's reasoning sounded silly, but she had a point. She arrested whatever reassurance was offered to her.

Uncurling her body, she reached up to the trap door above her head and found it locked. She used to be forgetful of latching the thing at night, but ever since Hawkmoth had snuck into her room two years ago, she had never failed to keep it properly sealed. Of course, that begged the question of how anybody had managed to get in to steal the box in the first place, but she couldn't dwell on matters like that now. The box was gone. Her room was empty. Conspiracy wasn't here.

After a few minutes, she settled back into her sheets. _If Conspiracy could find that box, then he could have found my earrings last week. He didn't. He didn't. He didn't. Why now?_

Tikki laid down right above her head. Marinette turned out her lamp and shut her eyes, but it was only a matter of half a minute before she sat up and scanned the room again.

"Marinette," Tikki whispered.

"I'm making sure."

She "made sure" countless times, unable to keep her eyes closed or her mind and body restful. She tossed and turned, laid on her side to stare out over the bedroom, tore her eyes away to face the ceiling, sat up, laid back down again. Tikki made no word or sound of complaint, because Marinette was sure that despite the kwami's attempts to reassure her, she was just as anxious.

It was 4 AM when Marinette gave up trying to sleep. She threw off her covers with a huff of annoyance and climbed down from her bed. A shake of her computer mouse brought the monitor to life, and she opened the Ladyblog.

"What are you doing, Marinette?"

"I need to check something."

She flicked on her desk lamp and clicked on the tab on the Ladyblog labeled, "The Miraculous", where Alya had compiled all the information she had personally discovered about each individual relic. Some of it was common knowledge, like each miraculous's power, and the animals they represented, things that any citizen who paid attention could understand just by watching a battle on the news or YouTube. But Alya also included speculative information based upon the historical research she had done on previous miraculous wielders, linking mythological characters, events, and imagery to miraculous. She had a section named "Miscellaneous Miraculous", where she discussed possible superhero identities that could not be supported by any contemporary sighting of a corresponding miraculous holder. Here, she included her theory that Heracles held a lion miraculous, that Moses with the help of a whale miraculous parted the sea. She found nothing about a raven miraculous.

Marinette rubbed her eyes, she opened a new tab and started making her own search. The only historical figure who seemed to be especially associated with ravens was Edgar Allen Poe, and he lived mostly during the 200 year gap where there were no superheroes to speak of.

Turning invisible, becoming intangible, a disorienting bird-like screech? The only things she could find on any of that were a bunch of ghost stories, and she had a hard time viewing a ghost as a superhero. Nonetheless, she read nearly everything she came across, all the while, consistently turning her head to look over her shoulder. Nothing stirred in her room. There was not even the moan of the floorboards. Everything was utterly silent but for the birdsong outside her window, and the ever increasing bustle of cars as dawn drew nearer. Soon, the sky was lightening. Thick white clouds caught the pink glow of a horizon gleaming beyond the skyline. In the slowly illuminating room, Marinette's fears started to melt off her back along with the pressure of eyes on her skin. In its stead stewed a heavy shame and frustration. She closed her browser and climbed back into bed, determined to get some sleep before she had to truly rise for school.

The adrenaline leaving her body, she sank back into darkness nearly as soon as she dropped her face into her pillow, and no strange dreams fired through her mind over the next hour that she had to herself. Marinette was aroused next by her alarm, which she promptly switched off, and still buried under her sheets, she called Alya.

"Hey, girl, what's going on?" Alya sounded mildly groggy, but not irritated. Marinette knew she was usually up early to make sure her younger sisters were taken care of anyway.

"I need to ask you some questions about the miraculous."

"Oh?" said Alya, sharpening.

"Particularly the raven one."

"Is it a raven? See, I didn't know if it was a raven or a crow."

Marinette swallowed. _Right_. "Well, I'm just assuming raven."

"Uh huh. I mean this well, but this couldn't wait until we got to school? I don't have a ton of time to talk."

"I'm just worried that with Lila being akumatized and working with Conspiracy so often that she might not want to hear us talking about it."

"You have a point. I guess it doesn't matter anyway since I don't really know much."

Marinette sighed. "You don't?"

"No, not really. I admit, I haven't had a ton of time to research, but there's nothing I've ever found that gives me reason to suspect the existence of a raven or crow superhero. Or villain, for that matter. To be fair, I've only come across a handful outside of the ones that have appeared in Paris over the last four years, and I'm sure there's gotta be more."

"Yeah."

Alya latched on to the disappointment in Marinette's tone. She hesitated on the other end before saying carefully, "I'm surprised you're calling me about this. You tend not to show too much interest in this stuff."

"I don't know, I guess it feels different this time around. Wouldn't you agree?" she asked, twisting her earring between her thumb and forefinger.

"Different how? Different as in -" Alya inhaled audibly on the other hand, as if contemplating her next words "-as in Lila is the one consistently involved?"

Marinette glared towards her phone. "Alya, let's not go there."

"I won't. I'm just saying you can't blame her for everything."

"I've gotten better over the last couple years, haven't I?"

Alya hummed, then clicked her tongue. "So, this isn't about Lila being akumatized?"

Marinette glared towards the phone. "Yeah, maybe! I think that's weird. It'd be weird if it was anyone who had been akumatized twice consecutively! What if it was you that had become Lady Wifi over and over again? Wouldn't I be justified in feeling a little suspicious?"

"I don't know what you want me to say, girl," Alya replied, sounding exasperated. "Lila has been akumatized. That's a fact. Unless she got her hands on the actual fox miraculous."

Marinette reeled.

"But that would mean that both she and Ladybug and Chat Noir are lying, which just doesn't make sense."

Giving no response, Marinette crawled out of bed and paused at the base of the ladder, her eyes on the phonograph sitting on the table across the room. Though her feet remained rooted to the floor, she felt herself dissolving under the hopelessness building quickly through her body. It manifested as tears at the corners of her eyes. Her eyes sank to the floor, trying to blink away the moisture.

"Marinette, you still there?"

"It doesn't make sense, Alya," she murmured. If she raised her voice any louder, it might waver, "and I'm scared."

"Oh, girl." Marinette could hear the comforting smile in her friend's voice. "We don't have anything to be afraid of. Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of this, just like they always do."

"But they _didn't_ take care of it the first time," Marinette shot back. She crossed the room, and holding the phone between her jaw and shoulder, picked up the empty phonograph with both hands. "They didn't beat Hawkmoth. Did they?"

"No, I guess not. Not permanently, but they defeated countless akumas-"

"Akumas? Who cares about akumas? It's not Lila I'm worried about. It's everything else. They could never take down Hawkmoth himself. They could only take down Mayura because she -" Marinette pressed her eyes closed and turned away from the table "-because she was weaker, I guess. Have you watched that fight by the Arc de Triomphe? Conspiracy is no joke."

"No, but Ladybug and Chat Noir will come out victorious, Marinette. Don't you have faith in them?"

By now, Marinette had thrown open her closet door and set the phonograph on the floor between her laundry basket and a rack of shoes. She pulled the first shirt she saw off its hanger and closed the door.

"I get it's troubling," Alya went on when Marinette didn't answer her question. "But now is not the time to doubt them. They've never kicked _Hawkmoth's_ ass - directly, anyway - but they've never failed us either."

"Alya." Marinette returned to the table and wiped the dust away from her motorcycle helmet. Her gaze caught on Tikki, who hovered by the computer with a gentle and sympathetic expression. Marinette could barely force out the words, and when they finally came, they came riding a heavy, quivering breath. "They're just people, you know. A couple of kids. That's it."

A stunned quiet followed. And then Marinette heard a shout in the background on Alya's end. "I gotta go for now," her friend said, sounding uncertain. "But we can talk later at school, okay?"

"Okay."

"See you soon."

"Yep."

Alya disconnected.

Marinette dressed and fell into her lounge chair, eyes aimed at the ceiling but constantly fighting to stay open. Tikki prevented her from falling asleep again, by tapping her on the forehead now and again. Eventually, she floated by with Marinette's hairbrush hanging between her arms.

"We have to leave in a half hour," she muttered.

"Maybe if I wasn't a full time student, I'd have the time to become that unflappable Ladybug everyone thinks I am. Good thing there's only a week left of the school year."

Tikki beckoned Marinette to sit up and ran the brush through her shoulder-length locks. "Marinette, it'll be okay. Take consolation in everybody's trust in Ladybug and Chat Noir. They've witnessed your heroism countless times. They have reason to be faithful."

"Thanks, Tikki, but what am I meant to do now that I have no more allies to turn to? What if I needed Rena Rouge or Ryuko or Carapace or Pegasus? What if I needed…?" She flinched as Tikki pulled the brush through a strand of tangled hair.

"What if you needed, who?" the kwami asked.

She didn't reply. Instead, she turned her head towards her desk where she'd left her phone. Tikki pulled the brush away and floated into view, her dark eyes attempting to encourage a shared gaze, but Marinette avoided her stare. She retrieved her phone and opened her contact list once again, scrolling until she found the number of the person on her mind.

Master Fu had asked her to delete his number before he handed over the guardianship, and though she said she would, she never did. He was still represented by a little turtle emoji. Her thumb hovered over the call icon, and she remembered their parting words.

"_You're the best miraculous holder I've ever known. I'm proud of you, Marinette."_

"_Thank you, Master."_

He'd handed the phonograph over, and she cradled the antique in her arms as carefully as she would hold an infant.

"_It's yours now." _

He'd left her with only a smile when Marinette asked him if they'd ever meet again. She supposed he couldn't make any promises, but she had assumed that they would. That she and Chat Noir would defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura, and he would be safe to return to Paris, return to her. Maybe a part of her thought he would take the guardianship back from her, that this was only a temporary, a way to throw Hawkmoth off his search for the old master. But she realized quickly that Fu wasn't coming back. He'd truly left her with all that he had, insisting that she possessed everything she needed to carry on a legacy two hundred years and seven thousand kilometers removed from her, nothing but seventeen magic jewels and an ancient instruction manual as her guide. Her defeat of Feast might have restored everything that had been lost all those years ago, but none of those things had made it back to her.

Fu never told her where he was going. Whether he was in Tibet or London or New York or Antarctica, she didn't know. She'd dared to make phone calls in the past, but they'd gone straight to voicemail, never returned. Fu must have at least known that Hawkmoth had been absent for almost two years. But perhaps that wasn't enough; perhaps, Fu needed to know that he was truly _gone_.

She called his number, and immediately was met with his pre-recorded greeting. If he was to know that Hawkmoth was on her side, it couldn't be from her. The entire world would have to know first, and they weren't ready for that. Gabriel wasn't ready for that. And with a situation as delicate as this, maybe they would never be.

_Leave a message, and I'll get back to you_, the recording promised. A promise that had been broken several times. She knew it wouldn't be kept now.

But at the sound of the tone, Marinette couldn't help the words that spilled out of her mouth. "Master," she murmured. "It's me again, Marinette. I know you won't hear this, but I really wish I had your help right now. I don't know what to do. There are some new villains, not Hawkmoth and Mayura, but a girl at my school, Lila Rossi, you remember her. Volpina. And a new holder named Conspiracy, with a raven miraculous." She hugged herself with her free arm, finger tips pressing into the spaces between her ribs. "I didn't know there was a raven miraculous, and to be honest, I'm not sure if you knew it either, considering you have only ever been responsible for one box. And then there's this sorcerer…" A chill crawled down her spine, a lash of pure terror that she tried to conceal within her voice. "I knew sorcery was a thing, but I guess I never imagined the possibilities. They did this thing where they tried to break Hawkmoth's miraculous - yeah, Hawkmoth. He's on my side now. I told you that he gave up, remember? Almost two years ago now. Which means Paris has been safe for a long time, which means you could have come back."

Tikki whimpered. Marinette began to pace the room, and every time she faced the closet, she could not draw her stare away from its door, from the phonograph that sat on the other side in the dark.

"Anyway, I'm totally underprepared to deal with them," she went on. "Conspiracy has these giant wings made of knives and no matter how hard I try, I can't touch him. He might have been in my room last night. I have no clue because he can turn invisible too. And the Sorcerer - they - they - I have no idea what to expect from them. No idea how to begin comprehending what they can do. I kinda delegated that to Chat Noir's stepmom to take care of - remember, she was Mayura? I feel kinda bad because I don't think she's okay. She's not in the right place to be taking care of something that important. But I already feel like I'm losing my mind over the fact that I have nothing. Master Fu, I have nothing. And I know that's not your fault, because you taught me everything that you knew, and you had to protect yourself and the miraculous by leaving Paris, but you know, it kinda doesn't matter, because just a couple months after you left, Hawkmoth found out I was the guardian anyway, and he stole the box. I told you that story, though. And I don't think I'm brave enough to tell you now that.." _it happened again. _

"Marinette," Tikki chirped softly.

_It happened again. The box was stolen. I don't know where it is. I can't find it. _

She wished she could find a way to explain that, but it was so unbelievable. Master Fu was the only other person that knew she was in possession of the miracle box.

But she banished the thought before its implications were sound in mind.

"Tell me what to do," she begged. A teardrop slid down her jaw and broke against the floor beside her foot. She kept pacing. Back and forth. She passed the mirror above her makeup vanity again and again, watched as her face fell apart in her reflection. She pulled the phone away from her ear to wipe away her tears with her forearm. "Tell me what to do…"

But he couldn't. Because she wasn't speaking to him. And he wasn't going to hear this message. And if he did hear it, then he wouldn't answer her.

She hung up and stuffed her phone in her pocket. The next several minutes consisted of dabbing her eyes with tissue and beating foundation into her splotchy skin. She didn't feel like eating breakfast, but if she didn't force herself out of her bedroom now, she might never leave. When her mother asked if she was feeling alright, she only answered that she hadn't slept well. It wasn't a lie and had no problem slipping unaffectedly out of her mouth despite the resurgence of apprehension that came with recalling the eerie sense of surveillance that had plagued her over those hours. But there was something else brewing within her, something which fought against the chill of terror under her skin until her blood coursed with both fire and ice.

Marinette was angry.

She was angry as she grabbed her bag, wordlessly waved her hand at her parents at the kitchen counter, and withheld the urge to slam the apartment door on her way out. She was angry as she stomped down the stairs towards the patisserie. Angry as she listened to the chime of the bell and walked out onto the street. Angry as Tikki, hidden in her purse, shifted to press herself as best as she could against Marinette's hip in comfort.

Without even thinking, she was glaring across rooftops and down alleyways, as if she was going to find Conspiracy there, watching her. Sometimes, her mind created the image of that cloaked figure she'd so briefly seen disappear behind the facade of that destroyed storefront, saw the long silver mask, with the pointed chin, and the tiny black, almond-shaped eye-holes Gabriel had illustrated for them after he told them the story. Watching her now. The both of them watching her, darkly clothed and stern-faced behind their masks and their mysterious tall figures. Two people she had no way to know anything about.

It wasn't Fu's fault that he had to leave, she tried to tell herself, but the thought couldn't withstand that dangerous storm of rage and fear stirring in her chest, couldn't withstand the fact that he had left her with the promise, with the lie that she already had _everything_. She was competent and brave and smart and somehow that was supposed to be enough. The truth was there were miraculous that not even Fu had known about, and magic his trusty grimoire didn't begin to explain. He _knew_ he didn't have everything because he _watched_ the rest be destroyed by his own careless mistake 190 years ago, a mistake he'd been haunted by all that time, a mistake he hadn't even been the one to fix. All that power and knowledge that had resurfaced, and Marinette was left with none of it.

_But everything is fine, isn't it?_ she thought sourly, _Because at least everyone trusts me._

She didn't want to talk to Alya when she got to school. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she couldn't bear to look at anything but her feet. When Adrien showed, he gently put his arm around her shoulder and whispered, "What's wrong?"

His breath on her ear had a calming effect. A very small, but very welcome one. Marinette leaned against him, and promised to tell him after their first class.

She never had the chance. Volpina attacked halfway through the period. Marinette had been so upset that she didn't even notice the girl was absent until somebody ran in from a different class, yelling about another akuma. A few minutes later, they found out she was attacking alone.

For now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys. Sorry for disappearing there. Got a little overwhelmed with the current state of the world is all. I don't know when I'm going to have a consistent update schedule again, but I hope you'll bear with me.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Nine

Gabriel restrained himself. When he received the news notification that Paris was under attack once again, he kept from springing to his feet with a shout of his transformation phrase, though his heart screamed at him to do just that. Instead, he dismissed the notice and continued his work. Finally, it seemed that his jumpsuit was coming together. It needed a change of silhouette and a different fabric material along with it. He'd spent well over a week on the design, but it was difficult to feel the long-awaited relief of an artistic breakthrough when he knew what was happening elsewhere.

He was waiting for Conspiracy. So far, Volpina was attacking alone, and since he wasn't officially "with" Ladybug and Chat Noir just yet, he figured it was best to respond with less consistency, at least until they figured out how to situate Hawkmoth within this already much-confused dynamic. The public didn't trust him after his first sighting on the heroic side of the fight, and he could only wonder what they would think of a second. For now, he would lay low until he was certainly needed. It went against everything he was feeling now, this gravity pulling him towards the fight, but caution would benefit him. That's what he told himself anyway. He was doing this for his family in the first place, and in the midst of such a precarious situation, caution would benefit them.

It would benefit Nathalie, who tended to want what he wanted. She set herself ablaze the other day and he couldn't help but think that it was somehow his fault, if watching him leap head-first into the fray made her eager to throw herself down beside him. The thought was terrifying to him, of Nathalie pushing too hard, going too far. She _would_ if he went first, she _might_ if he went at all. It hadn't been long enough since he'd learned the hard way, just how much she was willing to give. Things had changed, he knew, but to learn they hadn't changed enough would shake him from his roots.

His miraculous pulsed rapidly. All morning he had sensed something like a storm on the horizon, the rumble of thunder so deep and so distant that it was less of a sound and more of a perception of something coming buried in one's center of gravity. There was the building of anger, not that born of spontaneous or senseless misfortunate, but marinating in resentment, something that was growing sourer with time. He would have ignored emotions like this several years ago, for the most useful to him were those that left victims prone to impulsivity. But now that he was meant to hang back and wait until he was needed, he was realizing how threatening these deep-seated emotions were. He'd be more likely to catch a fire with those bright and sudden sparks, but the malevolent and embittered could hold the flame for longer, burning and burning and burning…

The minutes ticked by and there was no mention of Conspiracy. Gabriel grew only more restless until he had told himself that having Nooroo nearby would be helpful, especially if he was needed very immediately. He quit his atelier and ascended the staircase, cell phone clutched uncomfortably tight in his fist as he waited for a news update.

Nathalie heard his approach and called out to him. Gabriel found her in the nursery, sitting on the floor with the grimoire, her tablet, and an open journal filled with hastily written notes spread out in front of her. She held a pen in her teeth and the baby in one arm, who was wide awake and blinked at her father pausing in the doorway.

"How long have you been at this?"

"Not long. I'm just organizing some things," she mumbled around the pen. Her free hand smoothed a wrinkled page of the journal, smudging some of the ink.

"Nathalie." She met his eyes and saw something grim within them, because her previously neutral expression darkened. "Volpina's attacked once again."

In her moment's hesitation, her shoulders tensed up. "Has she?"

"Yes, the school, so I've heard." He searched the room with his gaze. "Where is Nooroo?"

She spat the pen out into her hand. "I sent him after a potion I made earlier. I think I got some of its descriptors wrong." As if on cue, the kwami passed over Gabriel's shoulder, holding a vial that looked awfully similar to Nathalie's medicine, if a little greener in color. He passed off the potion, which she stared at for a moment before setting it down on the carpet. Then, she crossed something out on the page. "Here he is."

"Hello, master," Nooroo greeted softly, dipping his head. The baby attempted to grab him, and he moved out of reach without even looking at her.

"There's been an attack, Nooroo. I'd like you near me."

"Yes, master."

"Are you planning on going out, then?" Nathalie questioned. Her voice was level, but somehow, Gabriel could sense a wrinkle of fear within them, perhaps in the speed with which she spoke."Is that a good idea after what happened last time?"

"Marinette suggested that I give it as many shots as it takes to gain at least some of the city's trust."

"I understand that, but—" Nathalie cut herself off, shaking her head. "What am I saying? Ignore me. This certainly won't end anytime soon if you're not there to assist them."

A pang of sympathy spread through his chest. Gabriel sat on the floor across from his wife and smiled at her reassuringly. "I doubt Volpina is out there doing anything on her own terms, but I won't go out if Conspiracy never shows."

She gave him a small, doubtful smile. "You say that now..."

"Am I so fickle?"

"No. You're quite determined, rather, but while I can appreciate your restraint, I know what you really want. I'll accept that waiting is your plan now, but I anticipate you won't want to stand by for long."

"Nathalie…"

"What? You're just similar to me, and you know I wish I could do more to help you all."

He swept his eyes purposefully over the mess she had made on the carpet. "What are you talking about? You're doing more than enough."

Nathalie started to bounce the baby gently in her arm as she stared at him silently. She didn't look like she wanted to have this conversation again, as much as he was certain the words lingered on her tongue. Changing Nathalie's mind surely had to be one of the most impossible things, but she took pity on him this time. She said nothing.

"I'm confident that the more Volpina appears, the more the city will begin to question her story. I'd be surprised if there weren't some skeptics out there already," he said.

"May I remind you of how many times _you_ have akumatized certain people, Gabriel?" she near-whispered, blue eyes sharp but playful.

He flushed. "Is it really not so out of character for me to make so foolish a choice as to target one person three times consecutively?"

Nathalie shrugged.

"The difference between Volpina and Mr. Pigeon," he began, and the corner of her lip lifted in amusement at his defensiveness, "is that as long as Volpina is visible, she is completely non-threatening. It's a logically flawed decision to akumatize her and send her out to personally engage in battle."

"I won't insist on sullying your dignity," his wife replied. "Rather, I must admit that you are right to an extent. You have akumatized Lila into Volpina more than once in the past, but the public only knew of her involvement once, the first time. Every other instance, she concealed herself. This is...different. I would think everyone would begin to catch on."

"We can only hope, though I am sure they would sooner doubt my sanity than they would her story. If Ladybug and Chat Noir would only question her themselves—"

"They must be careful of giving too much away."

"I know. But if Volpina is being reckless, then their own risks are more reasonable."

Nathalie pursed her lips. "I suppose that's true."

They became anxious waiting for word of Conspiracy's arrival, but twenty minutes elapsed of nothing new. Gabriel watched as Nathalie scanned her notes, occasionally crossing things out, drawing arrows across the page, checking something on her tablet, but Gabriel could tell her mind wasn't in the work. She glanced up from her paper often, looking to his face or a space on the wall. She rolled the greenish vial across the carpet with her palm. At one point, she rose to put Anaïs in her crib, only to retrieve her again several minutes later. Gabriel, meanwhile, kept checking his phone for any kind of update, but he received nothing. Nothing at all.

At last, he chose to watch the live broadcast. Maybe he had missed something, and Conspiracy had been there for much time already, but all he could see was Ladybug and Chat Noir locked in battle with Volpina, who continuously created illusions of bricks or stones or something launching their way towards the heroes at a lightning fast speed, so that even as Gabriel knew they weren't real, he would flinch each time one of them made contact with Ladybug or Chat. Volpina was getting creative, that was for sure.

But there was no Conspiracy. No shadowy figure flickering to and fro. Gabriel bit his lip and gave himself three minutes to watch, minutes that passed at a snail-pace, until he sighed, dropped his phone into his pocket and rose to his feet.

"Are you going?" Nathalie asked him.

"You were right, my love," he replied, gazing at her in apology. "I can't wait any longer. It doesn't look like they have the upper hand anyway. Conspiracy or no Conspiracy, they could use my help."

"Very well." She stood up too, kicking both the grimoire and the journal closed with her foot. Nooroo, from where he had been sitting on the windowsill, drifted towards his master, trying to offer both an encouraging smile.

"Nooroo, wings rise!"

"Good luck," Nathalie said, once Hawkmoth had appeared in the nursery.

Before leaving, he pressed his lips to hers, and he could taste her fear in the way she kissed him back, with force and anguish and desperation that emerged slowly, subtly, like grass out of snowmelt. When she pulled back, he grabbed her by the wrist and gazed at her silently, hoping she would understand by the look in his eyes that the last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid. She could read his mind like she could always read his pain, and so he hoped he was listening to the words bounding through his mind, _I'll be okay_.

"Alright, Baby Girl," he murmured, reaching down to run his gloved fingers down the curve of his daughter's rounded cheeks. "Take two, huh?"

She babbled, turned her head into his palm.

"Take two," whispered Nathalie.

He parted with another kiss and flew out into the daylight, cane grasped tightly in his fist. He cleared the wall surrounding his property and landed in the middle of the street. Living on a quieter avenue than he used to, there were luckily no pedestrians or drivers to notice him emerge from his own house. He took a moment to evaluate his sense of direction, before turning his body downhill. The news broadcast showed that the fight had drifted from the school towards the Eiffel Tower, so that was where he would make his way.

As his feet pounded against the asphalt, he branched his mind out farther and faster than his legs could carry him, seeking out a potential ally. If he akumatized someone, and did it for the right reasons, that might work in his favor, but even as his power brushed up against multiple determined and righteously angry minds, he was reminded that there was likely nobody out there he could take under his wing without force. His previous victims could hardly resist his pull, and he compelled them viciously if they pushed back. That wasn't the heroic thing to do. The _correct_ use of his power entailed the full consent of his akuma victims – _candidates_.

That girl who ran the Ladyblog would be perfect, but her scathing response to his last public appearance was a warning that she would never accept his offer on her own terms. And he doubted anyone else would. Hawkmoth twirled his cane in his hand. Hopefully, he could manage to make a clearer statement this time.

He launched himself up to the rooftops of Paris and bounded from building to building towards the iron landmark calling his name. Through the rush of wind past his ears, he heard the occasional blare of a horn or surprised shout by an onlooker. One pedestrian dove behind a parked car with a squeal of panic, and though Hawkmoth could not prevent himself from rolling his eyes, he also failed to neglect the pinch of guilt within him, that his very presence incited such fear among those he shared a city with. But he could not be shocked, and so the feeling was fleeting. He ignored the reactions. The streets were slowly clearing anyway now that most were aware of there being an attack.

As he neared the tower, he felt the gentle beats of emotion emanating from the scene of the fight. He recognized the wrath of his son, a hot and quick anger that rushed like the pulse of footsteps, and suddenly Hawkmoth could practically see Chat Noir's movement as though he were there beside him. The thought struck him to akumatize his son. Surely, there could be no better approach than to offer his power to one of the city's heroes to fight against a common enemy. The idea sparked a fiery resolve within him, and he moved faster, faster. He couldn't get there soon enough.

A flash of darkness passed over Hawkmoth's head. He gasped, ducking, and fell short of the next ledge. His foot slipped, sending him sailing towards the ground. His magical strength eased the force of the impact, but his cane dropped out of his grip, spiraling across the asphalt.

_You!_

He sprang to his feet, wasting no time by grabbing the hilt of his cane and ripping the rapier out of its sheath. He spun around to find the exact man he'd been expecting, heavy wings crashing against the ground as he dropped from the sky onto the street. Black eyes bored straight into Hawkmoth's soul, empty and chillingly emotionless.

"Hello, again."

Hawkmoth gritted his teeth, holding his blade erect. He planted his feet firmly.

Conspiracy took a step forward, lowering his chin into his throat. "I was waiting for you."

"Were you?" Without taking his eyes off the raven-miraculous holder, Hawkmoth made himself aware of his surroundings. They had landed on a rather quiet street. He had no way of knowing if anyone was watching from inside the buildings that flanked them, but he wondered what the world would make of a second hostile interaction between himself and his mysterious opponent. His face fell into a scowl. "I'm astonished that you would choose to spend your energy on me while you send your little minion after the objects of your endeavor."

Conspiracy's eyes narrowed. The feathers on his wings gave a small rustle, and the tip of the lowermost blade shrieked against the ground. "Subordinate she may be, her malice makes her quite effective."

"I'm aware," Hawkmoth replied, "of its power."

There was something odd in Conspiracy's tone of voice, and Hawkmoth couldn't quite put his finger on it. They'd exchanged few words during their first encounter, but he remembered the man sounding sharper, a sentence like the swipe of a knife through the air. Whatever emotion seeped through Conspiracy's voice now, it was softer, lighter, but to try to name it was futile.

Not to mention Conspiracy had been quick and deliberate, at any moment ready to fade away and reappear elsewhere, but he seemed more solid and tangible now than ever, and during the pause that followed Hawkmoth's words, he appeared to be sizing him up, unprepared to make and attack.

"Does she know what you think of her?" growled Hawkmoth, squeezing the hilt of his rapier.

"Oh…" Conspiracy held out his wings. "She's a smart girl, and from what I hear, this isn't the first time she's been in a position like this."

Behind him, the quiet road they were standing on intersected with a busier street. Hawkmoth squinted his eyes and flexed his grip around the sword. Still, Conspiracy didn't appear as though he was about to make any move, but Hawkmoth doubted a direct attack would be successful. His patience waned as he stared his enemy down from several meters away, searching for any indication of thought in the glassy, ink-colored surface of his glare.

A moment later, realizing it was on him to be the first to act, bent his knees and vaulted backwards, down the gentle slope of the road he was standing on. Conspiracy lunged after him, propelling himself with a beat of his wings behind his back. Not wanting to lose sight of his opponent, Hawkmoth refused to turn away, so when a car turned onto the street and began making towards them, he winced at the bark of the horn and fell nearer to the sidewalk. Conspiracy vanished before he could sail through the windshield of the vehicle, re-materializing again once it had passed and leaving the car to come to a screeching halt. Hawkmoth regained his footing and continued on.

But Conspiracy proved to be faster. After catapulting himself from the ground to a tree above Hawkmoth's head, Conspiracy dove towards him, forcing Hawkmoth a few paces back uphill with a sweep of a wing inches from the back of his silver head. Hawkmoth cursed and leaped further down the hill only to be driven back up once more. Every swing of his rapier was dodged, rather than parried by Conspiracy's collection of feather-shaped blades. The raven-miraculous holder remained as elusive as ever, and Hawkmoth meant nothing but empty air, a far more frustrating plight than to be blocked.

By now, Conspiracy remained consistently downhill of Hawkmoth, which would put the latter at an advantage if the former wasn't so outrageously difficult to get around. Already, Conspiracy took up a lot more space, despite being multiple inches shorter than Hawkmoth, with the impressive span and danger of his weapons. He fought less offensively now than Hawkmoth remembered him to, but his speed and power and threatening aspect continued to work in his favor.

Eventually, Hawkmoth was pushed as far back as he had come, and then even further. His heart raced, less so with exertion as it did with the rush of anger firing through his blood that he was being deterred from the direction of the larger battle. Perhaps Conspiracy wanted him all to himself. Perhaps he didn't want to give Hawkmoth the chance of clearly demonstrating his allegiance, choosing instead to engage in a chase that was sure to baffle the public rather than assure them of anything. If only he could land a decisive blow or get ahold of that miraculous! Conspiracy hadn't even flashed it this time around, but Hawkmoth could still imagine that chain dangling from his concealed wrist.

After hurling his blade through the air with such force that it struck the ground, Hawkmoth peeled off into an alley to break away from the area. The thump of Conspiracy's footsteps behind him faded into silence, and Hawkmoth came to a sudden halt as he reformed at the other end of the alleyway, reminding him that with such a power, it would be impossible to make it very far at all.

Conspiracy rose a wing to strike and flew towards Hawkmoth. Those many blades sliced through the shadowed space they shared, but tore into nothing as Hawkmoth ducked low and nearly lost his balance trying to rise again.

Coming to a stop, an eerie laugh tricked from Conspiracy's mouth. He turned around. "I don't want to hurt you," he rumbled. "If you would just stay put…"

Hawkmoth scoffed. He slithered forward and swung his rapier, but Conspiracy vanished only to reappear several meters away.

"I mean it," he said.

He charged again and was as unsuccessful. He didn't understand why Conspiracy wouldn't end a fight he had such an advantage over. Hawkmoth's breathing was labored now, but his opponent seemed as calm and energized as before. Envy and rage and fear crept under his skin. He spat onto the ground as if he could expel the emotion from his body.

Conspiracy, upon seeing Hawkmoth raise the rapier once again over his head, surged forward. Hawkmoth veered suddenly to the side to avoid him, crashing shoulder-first into the wall. The tip of his blade scratched against the earth and fumbled out of his hand. His fingers curled into a head joint of the wall as he fought to keep his balance. Conspiracy spun around and rushed back again.

Just as Hawkmoth secured his grip around the hilt of his rapier, Conspiracy raised his wings into the air. Hawkmoth let out a yelp and they ripped into the brick behind his head, trapping him between the wall and his enemy. Feathers fanned out threateningly, as though they moved to the wind.

He held each other's glares for several seconds of rigid stillness. Hawkmoth held his breath, fearful that any movement could be his end.

"You should be warned," Conspiracy said at last, and Hawkmoth found himself captured by the graveness of his enemy's tone, "the girl, Volpina, _Lila_, whatever you call her – she doesn't know it yet, but she hates you more than she hates Ladybug. I can feel it." He blinked his black eyes, leaned his face in closer. "Don't think I'm not doing you a favor by keeping you as far away from her as I can."

Hawkmoth glared at Conspiracy silently as a torch burst to life within him. Trembling with rage, he snapped, "A _favor_? Right, and I suppose your Sorcerer friend was doing me _a favor_ as well when they attempted the destruction of my miraculous!" He forced Conspiracy's masked visage back several inches as he separated himself from the wall, as much as he could without catching himself on a knife's edge. "Whatever you think you are doing I guarantee it is no service. But I doubt you could be so blind and stupid to think you are helping me in any way, so if this is your attempt to deceive me, then you have pitifully failed."

Conspiracy stared, motionless.

"Who _are_ you people?" demanded Hawkmoth.

A wing clawed its way down the wall. "One who would prefer if you stayed out of this."

Hawkmoth huffed. In anger, he raised his rapier, attempting to draw it up the front of Conspiracy's armored vest, but at once, his opponent disappeared. To Hawkmoth's terror, a high-pitched shriek, not unlike the one he had heard last time, rippled unevenly through the air. He crouched and brought his palms up to the side of his head, trying to stifle the harsh cacophony. "No!" he cried out, the sound of his own voice muffled beneath the ringing in his mind, like a siren circling closely around him. He crouched and brought his palms up to the side of his head, trying to stifle to harsh cacophony. Once more, he found his vision dizzied and his mind confused. He shut his eyes against the rotating earth and dropped his hands to press them into the ground.

_Not again. How…?_

Hawkmoth could feel the footsteps before he could hear them, vibrating beneath his fingertips. The weight of eyes on the top of his head. The subtle change in light beyond his fallen lids. He grappled for the rapier he hadn't known he'd dropped again only to close his fist over the blade. He hissed in pain, reaching to clutch at his miraculous instead, remembering what had happened the last time, preparing once again for that surge of lightning-hot agony.

Maybe he'd sensed the brush of a finger tip against his knuckles. With a gasp, he jerked away suddenly and struck the back of his skull against the wall behind him. A shout became lodged in his throat as the pain exploded through his head and down his neck. Footsteps. Heat. The impact had rattled him so much that he could feel the power slipping off his body as though it were no more than a cloak, and suddenly, with a warble of magic, he was no longer Hawkmoth, but Gabriel Agreste crouched in an alley. He could feel the weakness in his body. He blinked his eyes open, but dark spots rained across his vision.

And then, a bright flash of light consumed everything. Gabriel felt the earth give beneath him before rising up again and cushioning him in grass. The wall he had been leaning against fell away as easily as though the wind had knocked it over. He didn't know how but the air _changed_. A voice called out beneath the senseless noise in his head, "Master. Master."

"Nooroo?"

"Master!"

"What happened?"

"I – I don't know."

Gabriel blinked rapidly, trying to clear his sight of the blinding glow. His fingernails sank into soft dirt. The sun hit his back, sun that couldn't reach him just moments before. When he looked up he went tense with shock.

His garden.

_What on earth…?_

His house. Tall and mighty and looming over his head. Curtains swaying on the other side of open windows. A bird leaping from the chimney to take flight, its small shadow cutting across his body. Gabriel was surrounded by asphodel and mallow and marigold, and he plucked a flower off its stem just to make sure it was real. His afflicted hand sustained nothing more but a thin white line drawn halfway across his palm, and he used it to crush petals between his fingers and drop them into his lap.

"How'd we get here?"

"I don't know, Master. You detransformed, and there was a flash of light."

"You didn't do this?"

Nooroo shook his head. "No, Master! I couldn't."

Confused, Gabriel dug a palmful of dirt into his hand. Nooroo's eyes darted to and fro, the whimper in his throat a clear indication that he was just as bewildered as his holder.

"Did Conspiracy…?"

"I...I don't think so."

A moment later, Gabriel attempted to rise to his feet, but the pain in his head made him unsteady. His skull throbbed. He would need ice for it. "I - I should transform back."

"No, Master. You're hurt."

He was sinking back to the ground again, the edges of his vision darkening. "As soon as I can get to my feet without toppling over," he mumbled. "Ladybug and Chat Noir still need me to help them against Lila."

Nooroo looked uncertain.

"I hope you don't think I should heed the advice of the scoundrel that did this to me."

"No, master. Only that you are likely needed elsewhere, wouldn't you expect?" Nooroo flickered his wings and nodded at his holder's chest. Gabriel rubbed a circle into the brooch's jewel with the tip of his index finger and noticed now that Nooroo had pointed it out that there was an emotion radiating towards him from a close proximity, something familiar which he recognized belonged to Nathalie. As it pulsed through his veins, the taste of her fear formed across his tongue, sharp like thorns yet terribly sweet. She was worried for him, far too worried to let her carry on much longer waiting.

In fact, she couldn't wait. Gabriel and Nooroo looked up as the back door swung open and Nathalie appeared on the porch. She locked eyes with him, and a look of apprehension sprouted across her countenance before she hurried down the steps to his side.

"What are you – how did you—?"

"Nathalie."

A marigold flower was crushed under her foot as she stepped through the garden to reach him. Kneeling at his side, one hand clasped tightly around his upper arm, while the other, he noticed, gripped that vial he had seen earlier, the one containing a bluish-green potion. "I noticed this light," she said, "like a lightning strike. I ran to the window and _you_ were laying out here – how did that happen? What did you do?"

"I dunno. Conspir'cy…"

Her brow furrowed with concern. "You're slurring your speech."

"I may've bashed my skull into a brick wall," he muttered, blinking at her. The sky was painfully blue above her head.

"Shit." Nathalie leaned in closer. "Where, love?"

He cradled the back of his head.

She placed her fingers gently over the place of impact, which made him grimace at the sting. "Oh," she murmured, pulling her hand back, "You're bleeding a little. Not much. It's just a scrape, but if you can't stand…"

"My Lady," Nooroo murmured gently. Gabriel glanced at the creature and found him gesturing to the capped vial in his wife's hand, which may have been trembling, but his unsteady vision made it hard to tell. Nathalie nodded at the kwami and slowly unscrewed the cap. Before Gabriel could ask what she was doing, she'd already swallowed half of its contents.

"Nathalie!"

She dropped the vial into the dirt. A second passed where she held herself stiffly, eyes pinched shut and expression contorted like it tasted sour. Then, she released a quivering exhale, her body and face relaxing.

"Nathalie?" he said once more, setting a hand on her knee.

When she opened her eyes, Gabriel flinched at their color, an unnaturally bright jade green. He'd noticed before, how in certain lighting, her sky blue eyes seemed to burn deeper in their blueness than usual whenever she took her medicine, but this was even stranger, so many shades removed from that azure he knew so well. He was stunned. Weakness made his arms shake as he tried to prop himself up higher, as if this was just some trick of the light he could foil from gazing at a different angle.

Nathalie held out her left hand and slipped it around the back of Gabriel's head, the exact place he had struck it against the wall minutes before. He gasped at the chill that ran through his body, as though her skin had become ice. And then the cold seeped through his hair, under his flesh, around his skull and down his spine as though it flowed like water through his bones. Nathalie's eyes flickered. Gabriel's spotted and disturbed vision appeared to straighten itself out, the world tilting back into place. His throbbing pain was numbed. A sigh of relief passed through his lungs…

And then his breath hitched. Stars burst across the stars and across Nathalie's face, just as it lost the tightness of concentration and fell into panic. The agony returned as though he had once again experienced the blow of collision. The chill passing through his body shuddered and gave to a stinging heat. Stunned, Gabriel's elbows buckled, and he fell onto the earth, Nathalie's hand the only thing to cushion the impact.

He groaned, shutting his eyes. He felt Nooroo's weight on his chest, and the call of his voice.

"Gabriel!" Nathalie shouted. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I could—"

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, then brought it to his cheek, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "What was that?" he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," she said again. She lifted him and laid his head across her lap. "I – I tried to help. A healing potion, Gabriel. I found a way to make another one. Something that gives _me_ the power to heal other people, but I guess—" Her voice broke. Gabriel's eyes fluttered open to find that the green had drained from her gaze and now they pooled with tears. "I guess I can't."

"My Lady," said Nooroo, and flew up to wipe her eye. "Don't feel bad. I guess that potion can only serve to heal miraculous-related damage."

"Nathalie." Gabriel reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Don't worry. It's okay."

She shook her head, teeth sinking into her lip. "I hurt you," she breathed. "I failed."

He assured her, "You failed at nothing. We'll just have to deal with this the non-magical way. Bring me inside. I prob'ly have a concussion. We'll call a doctor."

Taking in a deep breath, she nodded. They remained in place for a couple minutes more before Gabriel was ready to stand again, and he did so slowly, holding on to Nathalie for support. As he rose, Nooroo hid himself suddenly in Gabriel's jacket, and they glanced up to see Alain walking out the open door on his way to assist them.

"What happened?" he asked them, taking Gabriel's left arm as Nathalie took his right.

"He fell."

"I fell."

"Slipped in the garden and hit his head on the wall."

Alain sucked in air through his teeth, a pained look in his eyes. "Geez."

They led Gabriel inside and laid him across a sofa in the living room. Alain was sent away for ice while Nathalie retrieved the baby, who seemed restless as though she knew what was going on. She cooed and cried as Nathalie phoned a doctor, every now and then pulling the receiver away to ask Gabriel a question.

"You don't feel nauseous, do you?"

"No."

"Ringing in the ears?"

"Not anymore." The effects of Conspiracy's powers had long faded.

"What day of the week is it?"

"Wednesday."

Alain returned with the ice and handed it over to Gabriel. Nathalie finished her phone call with the doctor and told them that they will manage the injury at home unless Gabriel begins to show worsening symptoms. She gently shushed Anaïs when she cried out and kissed her.

"What's happening with that akuma attack?" Gabriel asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Still going on?"

"I think it's just over, actually," Alain replied, pulling out his phone to double check. "Yep. Over. And it looks like that Rossi girl is being brought in for questioning."

"What?" Gabriel and Nathalie asked in unison. They shared a look, and Gabriel caught the ripple of dread through his wife's rounded gaze just as the feeling shot through his miraculous. It was like two hearts were sinking through his chest.

"Good thing too. It's weird to be akumatized so often. Ladybug and Chat Noir need to ask what she knows."

Assured that they needed nothing else, Alain returned to the atelier to continue his work, leaving Nathalie, Gabriel, and the baby alone in the living room. Gabriel shifted the ice around in his palm and thought about how dead that kind of cold felt. Nathalie's cold was alive and moving and it breathed into his nerves. Until it didn't. He wished it hadn't stopped.

"Could this end today?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know…" he murmured. The memories of Conspiracy's black eyes and startling warnings pulsed through his mind like that incessant throb at the back of his skull. "I don't know if it'll be that easy." He knew that he could trust his son and Ladybug to say the right things, ask the right questions, but that couldn't slow the hammer of his pulse. The only way to totally incriminate her was to admit to knowing more than they were supposed to, but for the second time, Gabriel had failed to secure himself on the right side of this fight. And it was such a pathetic failure.

He could see Nathalie start to think, but then a shadow seemed to rupture across her gaze and she shut down. "No," she growled. "I don't want to…worry about it."

"Then don't."

She came closer and handed the baby over to him. Gabriel pressed Anaïs to his chest, gently massaging her back. Her tiny, scrunched up nose relaxed as round blue eyes peered softly into his. Nathalie ran her fingers through her baby's dark hair, humming. Not thinking. Humming. Not worrying. Her foot tapped with the thoughts and the worries she'd banished from her head.

Anaïs yawned.

"Baby Girl," whispered Gabriel, kissing her. He was grateful she was still too young to know the monster he used to be, too young to fear that he'd never changed. Gabriel's throat tightened while he rubbed an affectionate thumb into his baby's cheek. He wanted her to be this little forever.

Nathalie's hand came to a rest on the back of Anaïs's head, in the same place she had tried to heal Gabriel. Her humming stopped. Her fingers curled. And the thoughts rushed back.


	10. Interlude

Interlude

The problem with this city was that its people got used to shit too quickly. Like the smell of one's one house. Like the white noise of a quickly rotating ceiling fan. Like a mark on the wall, which catches a glance every now and again when perceived at the corner of one's eye, until, after a few perturbed looks, it is either forgotten or painted over. Animal-themed superheroes swept up the mess made by acts of magical terrorism every two or three days and Paris went about their business. Then, just as suddenly as these things emerged from a space lesser than shadow, they retreated. And Paris went about their business. Like it had never happened. Like it had been painted over.

But Lila Rossi was no mark on the wall. She refused to be. When she set foot in this city, two months deep into its mundane routine of resisting akuma attacks as plainly as one resists their alarm in the morning, Lila decided that she wasn't going to be as unimpressive as these spontaneous super villains seemed to be. Lila wasn't going to be ignored. She wasn't going to be brushed over. Lila was no mark on the wall because she was no accident. Lila was a grand work of art, a huge, intricate, vibrant mural, drawing a gasp from everyone who walked by, drawing their eyes so they could gaze at every expertly crafted detail. Standing. Staring. Letting out a little, breathless "Wow…"

Maybe, she realized, people could so easily dismiss those pesky marks because they were blind. Utterly blind. Because she was starting to think that they couldn't see her either, and it was not for a lack of brilliance. Lila had never stopped beaming. As far as everyone was concerned, she was meeting new famous friends every day, she was seeing new places, doing anything and everything necessary to be the most fascinating, desirable girl in the city. Somehow, all of that power clenched so tightly in her fists like fabric flowing between her fingers had started to slip away from her, threads unraveling and taking to an unforgiving wind.

It started with _him_. That short-sighted man claimed to want a good influence in his son's life, but surely he hadn't truly cared enough. He'd cinched such a perfect agreement, associating Lila with his brand, pairing her with Adrien. Smart as that kid was, he was so depressingly unaware of what was best for him. It broke Lila's heart. He could have had it all if the arrangement lasted, but his father, the designer known as Gabriel Agreste ceased communication with Lila eventually. She was no longer invited to photo shoots, no longer responded to over text message by that sickly, uptight assistant of his. She'd not even been spared a brusque, "We no longer require your cooperation." No, she'd merely been phased out of mind, as impossible as it seemed to her.

But then, everyone else seemed to change along with him. Lila, who used to captivate the attention of anyone who was near enough to listen, started to lose her audience. Her classmates began peeling away from the crowd that gathered around her at lunch whenever she returned from a trip with her mother. She was lucky to speak with three of them at once. Lila felt herself die a little bit every time a pair of eyes drifted away from her, like a petal shriveling up inside her, becoming so brittle that it shattered with a touch. She was filling with decay and waste slowly. A classmate would smile at her on the way into class and Lila would wilt because anyone could by smiled at, and Lila was not just anyone.

For a long time, far too long, Hawkmoth was the only one who never seemed to lose sight of her splendor. From that very first day, he could tell just how much she resented that dreadful bug. And on the days she felt most dead and withered, one of his blackened butterflies would flutter through the window she left open and fill her with life again. She had been akumatized a total of seven times, and each time she'd come closer to destroying Ladybug. It was what both she and Hawkmoth wanted, and though all his other victims had been driven by rage or sorrow or bitterness or something, Lila was the only one who felt the weight of what Hawkmoth was chasing, like a gravity pulling them and closer to that satiating revenge, so that he could take whatever power he wanted from that girl, so that Lila could finally make worse than a fool out of someone who'd so intently tried to tear her down, throw her to ruin before she'd even built herself up. The best part was that she would return to school when it was over and be greeted by the comforting words of her classmates, who said things like, "I hope you're feeling better today," and "I'm sorry I didn't notice you were feeling so down", because no one had ever been akumatized as many times as Lila. She relished in it.

But then, out of the blue, Hawkmoth disappeared, and so did his ally. So suddenly, and so without warning, that Lila felt like she had been dug out from the earth and thrown into a heap of roots and petals that were dying and questions that wouldn't be answered. If she didn't know any better, she'd have guessed that Ladybug and Chat Noir had done away with them, but that those two despicable creatures had defeated their enemies with enough ease to keep it quiet was unthinkable to Lila. Unthinkable. Lila knew they were still out there. Lila knew they were hiding from something. Lila thought, once - maybe twice - that they might have been hiding from her, the one person who understood just how badly they craved victory. Maybe they'd used their powers of empathy to reach into her animosity and find it bottomless, and it scared them.

They never came back, though. They vanished without a trace, and they left her with nothing, when they once had offered everything she could ever need to achieve everything she could ever want. They left her to shrivel and become nothing.

But Lila Rossi was not nothing. She was an explosion. She was a tempest. She was a sky burning with a billion stars, enclosing all the world.

And it didn't take long for someone else to notice.

* * *

Lila Rossi pressed her thumbs together. Pearl white teeth sank into her bottom lip as she stared at the metallic badge of the police officer sitting across the table from her. She could feel his glare boring into her forehead, his, and those of the pair of heroes flanking him on either side. Ladybug betrayed her petite frame to stand tall and stern, her arms crossed in front of her chest, face wrenched into an expression of disdain. Her partner held a similar stance. Chat Noir's jaw was clenched and his green eyes hard as crystal behind his mask. Lila wasn't certain if he had blinked once this entire time. For the first time sitting before them, she felt truly uneasy.

"Miss Rossi," growled the officer, and she flinched a little bit, "You need to answer the question."

"I-" She wrung her hands, cringed at how slick they were with sweat. "I can't, sir."

He raised a bushy eyebrow. "No? You can't tell us anything?"

"I've told you before. I don't know anything. Every time Ladybug uses her miracle cure, it erases my memories of what happened while I was akumatized."

Ladybug laid a hand on the table and leaned forward, her shadow, crisp under the fluorescent lights, crawled its way in Lila's direction. Her blue eyes blazed with anger, but she kept her voice level. "But Lila, we didn't capture an akuma. How were you akumatized without an akuma?"

"I _was_ akumatized," she insisted. "You know I was! I have been every time! How else could I have those powers?"

"Miss Rossi, is there really nothing you remember at all?" the officer asked before Ladybug could give her retort. "Nothing about this Conspiracy fella? What he wants, who he is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Lila answered, shrugging. "Didn't you guys think he was a sentimonster? Is that out the window now?"

"No, he might very well be a sentimonster," the officer sighed. He leaned back in his chair and set his hands behind his head. "We're just not a hundred percent certain, is all. We've gotten some reports of him engaging with Hawkmoth during the attack. This would be the second time. If Hawkmoth is trying to disassociate himself from Volpina's acts of terrorism, then he could be using a sentimonster to do it. That's what we're thinking is most likely anyway."

"Terrorism?" Lila said, pouting.

"I don't mean anything by that, kid. We know it's not your fault."

Ladybug and Chat Noir exchanged a glance. Chat ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair and heaved a heavy sigh.

"I'm so sorry," Lila said, dropping her hands into her lap. She blew at her bangs. They were getting too long. "This has been freaking me out ever since it happened for the first time last week, and since then I've been so stressed and overwhelmed. I'm trying to control my emotions, but I'm just as worried as the rest of Paris, probably even more so!"

"Miss Rossi." The officer spoke gently, catching the hitch in her breath as she worked up some tears. "We understand this is a very frightening situation for you. We know you don't want to be questioned every time. Can you think of any reason why Hawkmoth would be targeting you specifically? According to our record, you were akumatized a considerable number of times before his disappearance. Has there always been something that he's wanted out of you specifically?"

Lila wiped her eye with her index finger. Over the officer's shoulder, she saw Ladybug roll her eyes and it filled her with loathing. "Well," she huffed. "I don't know. Maybe Hawkmoth knows how much influence I have. I'm familiar with many celebrities around Paris and the rest of the world, and, you know, all of my friends have been really worried about me. Maybe Hawkmoth thinks that makes me a valuable ally to him? I wouldn't know why."

"Yes, it's just strange that he would choose to akumatize a singular person three times consecutively."

"Officer Raincomprix," Ladybug said. He turned his head to glance at the hero, who had placed her hand very suddenly on his shoulder. "Do you think you could leave Chat Noir and I alone with Miss Rossi for a couple minutes?"

His gaze flicked back and forth, and he withheld his response for a few seconds. Lila widened her eyes, trying to communicate an expression of discomfort at this suggestion of Ladybug's, but if he recognized it, he didn't seem to care. He rose out of the chair. "Sure thing, Ladybug. You're in charge."

Lila watched him quit the windowless room, gnawing the inside of her cheek. She crossed her ankles beneath the table and held her breath until he closed the door behind him.

Ladybug and Chat Noir glared at her murderously.

"What do you want from me?" Lila's voice sailed up a pitch. She made herself small in the foldable metal chair that chilled her bare legs. "I've told you everything I know."

"Can we cut this out?" Ladybug snapped. "Everyone in this room knows you're not really being akumatized. Now, mind telling us exactly what the hell is going on?"

Lila brushed her thick auburn hair back behind her ear. A sour feeling sat in her stomach and crawled up her throat until it tainted the taste of her very own tongue. Her lips twisted into a smile that burned Ladybug enough to darken the look of hatred in her eyes and stiffen her narrow shoulders. Beside her Chat Noir appeared nothing short of disgusted. He wrinkled his nose and revealed a fang behind his upper lip.

If Lila had to guess why Paris's superhero duo had yet to inform the public of her lie, she would say it's because they'd have to admit how totally incompetent they were to defend this city the way they promised. They would have to admit to losing a miraculous, letting it fall around the neck of the one who always had it out for them, nearly since arriving in this sad, stupid city. Ladybug and Chat Noir had never been anything other than beloved. They couldn't bear the thought of losing the faith of these millions of mindless citizens. It was simply too precious to them, and truly, Lila understood. Too bad they didn't deserve any of it. But it made things easier for her.

"Oh," she sighed, "Two of the world's greatest heroes in all of history are getting sick of doing their job, is it? It's almost like you've forgotten you already had to spend two years picking up the pieces to somebody else's mess."

Chat Noir growled. "It's terrible that you would take this so lightly."

"Lightly? Sure, of course I do. Aren't you having fun?"

Ladybug slammed her hands on the table, blue eyes a pair of sapphire flames. "Fun, Lila? You think this is a game? You're endangering people."

"No, I don't think I am. I'm pretty sure I haven't hurt a single other person, actually, aside from the two of you," she shot back.

"That's -"

"Oh, go on, name another person I've threatened! I think you'll find I'm a lot less of a villain than Hawkmoth was."

Neither hero replied. Both of their glares cut like razor blades into Lila's skin, but she braved the looks and held them with challenge. Within herself, she was second guessing her approach. Ladybug and Chat Noir clearly valued their public image, but the further she pushed them, the more likely their animosity might be to outweigh the patience they had for her mischief. Lila swallowed roughly and let herself fall back into her chair, eyes glazing over with thought.

"Let's try something else," murmured Ladybug, once she'd taken in a long, deep breath. "Those people you're working with. Conspiracy. The Sorcerer. Who are they? What do they want?"

"How are you so sure Conspiracy _isn't_ a sentimonster?" Lila asked back.

The heroine narrowed her eyes. "Fight enough of them, and you can tell. Who is he, Lila?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You can't lie to me. Maybe it hasn't dawned on you yet, but your mind games don't work on me, so quit trying." She leaned further over the table. "Who is Conspiracy? Somebody like that does not simply show up out of the blue with zero explanation. Answer the question."

"Or what, you'll use force?"

"We don't need to. You'll regret it one way or another," Chat Noir snapped. Lila was surprised by the danger in his tone, but she tried to brush him off.

Then she darted her eyes around the empty room, as if she was looking to see if anybody else was around them. "Okay, listen to me," she whispered. Ladybug and Chat Noir watched her keenly as she reached across the table and took them each by the wrist, drawing them nearer. "I don't know who Conspiracy is. Really. I have no idea. And I don't know anything about that Sorcerer person either. I genuinely have not a clue. At all."

Ladybug was unconvinced. "How did you get involved with this? How did you get that miraculous?"

"It was given to me. They wanted my help. I guess they knew about how many times I had been under Hawkmoth's control as an akuma, and they thought I'd make a believable ally. But I don't know what they want. I mean, I think I know what they want. I think they want your miraculous. That's what Conspiracy keeps telling me to go after. But I don't know why they want it, and I don't know who they are. Swear it."

For a moment, Ladybug's countenance lit up with surprise at the fear shaking Lila's words. Then, she cleared her throat and hardened her gaze. "Very well. I believe that. Now, care to explain why you accepted them?"

"I…" Lila sighed helplessly. "I don't know, what do you expect me to do when a tall, scary person in a mask who looks like they might be able to kill you with a stare asks you to help them? Refuse?"

"You really didn't seem to be in much of a precarious situation at all that first night. You still don't," rumbled Chat Noir.

"Oh, yeah, surprise, surprise. I'm a good actress. And maybe a part of me _did_ feel like taking you down a peg. But is that really so bad? The point is, I never would have been able to do a damn thing if I hadn't been threateningly approached by a dangerous super villain. Maybe you two would know a way out of that situation, but how am I supposed to? I had nothing until they gave me that miraculous."

"Okay, calm down," Chat Noir said, prying her hand off of his wrist.

"You're in way over your head," Ladybug murmured.

The blow to her pride ignored, Lila threw her hands in the air. "But that is everything I can say to you. They tell me what to do, and I barely know what I'm doing it for. But I have to do it. That's all."

The pair of heroes glanced at each other. Ladybug had been recording the entire conversation using her magical yo-yo, and she tapped her fingers where it was attached to her hip, clearly deep in thought, while her partner flicked his ears back and forth, pressing himself against the concrete wall to his left. To sit before them now, when just an hour ago she had been crashing her flute against Chat Noir's baton and flinging stones at Ladybug's head felt absurd. They spoke to her like a child, and Lila had to wonder if they really had any idea what she was willing to do to get what she wanted.

She blinked as Ladybug held out her palm. "Hand it over," the heroine said.

"What?"

"The miraculous," she clarified sharply. "Hand it _over_."

"Are you insane?" Lila exclaimed, clutching her hands over her chest. The fox pendant dangled under her shirt, and it wasn't going anywhere. "I can't just give this to you!"

"Why not?"

"It's not that simple."

"It's not yours," hissed Ladybug. She reached out her palm further, til her fingers nearly brushed against Lila's nose. "Surrender it immediately, Lila."

"No."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose you actually want to be tangled up in this situation, then? And you're willingly participating as a self-determined super villain? And despite claiming to have been compelled by others to scheme against us and endanger the city, you would rather continue to take this opportunity to peaceably disengage from these circumstances? In which case…" Ladybug's expression was cold and deadly, "I have no sympathy or patience for you whatsoever."

"Give her the miraculous, Lila," snarled Chat Noir.

"You don't understand!" shouted Lila, shooting up from her seat. Ladybug withdrew her hand and set it on her yo-yo, as if preparing to use it. "I can't do that! I can't give up the fox miraculous like it's nothing. It's not nothing." Her fists trembled over the hidden pendant, as if protecting her very heart. "What do you think they could do to me if they found out I'd handed it over? Huh? Do you think they'd shrug their shoulders and find another ally and leave me alone? No!" Lila tried to blink the tears out her eyes. "As soon as they know, they'll make me regret it. Don't you think I'm already terrified of them finding out I ended up here, being questioned? I can't lose this miraculous. It's out of the realm of possibility."

Ladybug and Chat Noir stared at her open-mouthed, appearing remorseful of their impetuosity. "Lila," Ladybug said, voice gentle and slow, "I understand. But we can't let this go on. If you give us the miraculous, we can ensure that you will be protected. We won't hang you out to dry."

"How can you protect me? It won't matter if you have a _ninja_ guard me when I sleep! You've seen what Conspiracy is capable of! Turning invisible, teleporting? And the Sorcerer? I don't even know where to begin. It won't help. You want to keep me safe?" Lila stepped away from the table, holding out her hands. "Let me go."

"Lila-"

"What? What else do you want from me?"

"We can find a solution-"

"No, I don't want to hear it, okay? I'm sorry. There, does that please you? _I'm sorry_. I never wanted it to go this far."

"How far did you want it to go?" demanded Ladybug, her anger quickly returning. Lila tensed. "Far enough to hurt us, right? As long as _you_ were in the clear?"

"That's not fair!"

"What would be fair?" said Chat Noir, green eyes narrowed to emerald slits.

"I don't know, but I won't be thrown to the wolves. You think this situation is fishy?" she challenged as she scowled at them. "Well, it is. I'm working with super villains, so what do you expect? What about the two of you, huh? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ladybug was appalled. "_Us_?"

"Care to tell me why you don't bother telling the whole world I'm lying about being akumatized? Seems like a pretty easy way to end this if you ask me, but no." Lila's voice was rich with contempt. "Or, maybe you can explain why I found you hanging around Gabriel Agreste's house that first night, having gone there on your own volition? Like you…" She sneered into Ladybug's pale visage, "_Suspected_ something?"

Chat Noir stepped in front of his partner. "You're way out of line."

"No answer then? I shouldn't be surprised. Do you honestly expect anybody to trust you when-"

Lila stopped talking as a bright light flashed to life behind her head, washing out the faces of the angered heroes in before her. Stunned, the pair failed to make a move for several seconds, and Lila stiffened as an arm, covered by a black leather glove, reached out and wrapped around her waist. A different hand latched itself in Lila's hair. Regaining her senses, Ladybug detached the yo-yo from her hip and unwound the string, but before she could toss it forward, Lila was pulled back into the light, her vision going snow-white, burning from her eyes to the back of her head. She last heard a shout from Chat Noir, a loud "No!" that was abruptly cut short as Lila vanished from that windowless room at the police station and found herself carelessly tossed on a cold stone floor several miles away. The white light blinked away and left nothing behind but a headache and a pair of eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness.

Her heart pounded, and she was not quite ready to stand. Lila scratched her fingernails across the floor until they provided a discordant chorus of tiny marble shrieks. She was waiting for the fear to ebb out of her body.

She could hear no footsteps. She was being stared at. Lila brushed her bangs out of her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and slowly brought herself to her feet to face the cloaked figure looming above her.

Lila swallowed. "Hi."

Silence. They emanated fury like light.

"You took me a little off guard…and I was just turning it on them too, you know."

"What was that?" snapped the Sorcerer.

"What was what?"

"When you act naïve it only makes you look stupid. Answer the question."

"Please, no more questions. I spent the last forty-five minutes answering questions. Maybe we can forget this ever happened."

The Sorcerer had no face Lila could see, but she guessed it might have been dark and twisted with rage. Everything else about them seemed dark and twisted after all. They replied, "Don't be flippant. _What was that this morning_?" A deep, mechanical voice sent shivers up Lila's spine and she crossed her arms to warm herself. The summer heat penetrated this place, but that didn't stop her from feeling cold in the Sorcerer's presence. They were like a ghost.

"You ask me that like I did something wrong," Lila said back. "I attacked Ladybug and Chat Noir. That's what you've been asking me to do this whole time."

"_When_ I ask you to do it. Who gave you an order?"

Lila shut her mouth.

"I had to send _Conspiracy_ out there to make sure you didn't do anything stupid. Next thing I know you're being brought in by police and questioned by Ladybug and Chat Noir themselves? I can only hope you didn't say something foolish."

"I didn't tell them anything about you." _It's not like there's much I can say. _

"Why'd you do it?" asked the Sorcerer. They lifted their chin, appearing taller than they already stood. Lila thought they had to be close to two meters.

"I had a promise made to me," Lila answered. She tried to keep her voice firm, but there was nothing she could do to prevent the shaking in her words. "I was told that I'd get my revenge. That's all I'm after. That's what I was doing. You know I wouldn't try to get in your way."

"Wouldn't you? How thoughtful," they growled bitterly. Lila backed away as they started stepping towards her, feet clapping down loudly and echoing through the room. "Maybe I need to make myself more clear. You and Conspiracy are a distraction. _A distraction_. Do you understand?"

Feeling small and afraid and indignant for it, Lila shot back, "_We're_ not a distraction because _we're_ going after what actually matters! The miraculous! And what is it that you're after again?"

The Sorcerer clenched their fist. "Justice."

"Yeah, well, so am I. Justice and revenge and all those fun things. Just like you. So, who are you to keep me from it?"

"You find those things fun?" murmured the Sorcerer incredulously.

Lila flushed. "Well, isn't it? Giving people what they deserve?"

"Revenge is a duty. Justice is a duty. Induced by pain. You take joy out of revenge?"

Suppressing a shudder at the delicate, gravelly tone of her ally, Lila rolled her shoulders back. "Yes," she answered proudly. "I do."

The Sorcerer may have been gazing at her, but there was no way to know for sure. But they were silent nonetheless, and it was like a wind had very suddenly died.

"At the very least, I enjoy actually doing something about it. Call me a distraction all you want, but I'm making more of a difference then you have. All you do is hide away and play with glowing bottles like that's helping you."

"Playing. Yes. That's right, and that reminds me." The Sorcerer had a few of those bottles latched to a belt hanging loosely around their cloak. They selected one that looked like it was filled with ink and whispered something into the stifling air. Lila leaped back as the glass exploded, a shard piercing the toe of her boot. The Sorcerer manipulated the black potion to swim around their fingers, and Lila's heart tumbled into her feet as she heard them whisper, "Cataclysm."

Suddenly, Lila felt herself being seized by the chest. The fox miraculous that had been hidden from view was pulled, seemingly by nothing, out of her shirt to dangle in the air. Dark energy bubbled around it, and Lila felt this blazing pain searing her neck, exactly where the chain still hovered above her skin. The Sorcerer rotated their fingers, enhancing the magic until it nearly engulfed the pendant, all traces of orange being concealed in a floating shadow. Over the roaring of blood in her ears, Lila could hear them groaning with concentration, until at last, the magic burst. With a hiss, the blackness dissipated, and Lila's miraculous fell against her chest, completely spotless. Without a dent.

The girl herself was on her knees, catching her breath in absence of the agony that had also been ripped from her body. Tears rolled down her cheeks, which she wiped away with the back of her hands as if the Sorcerer had not already noticed them. Where she had once been freezing, Lila now dabbed at the sweat building along her hairline, trying to collect herself as fast as possible.

Without a word, the Sorcerer turned elsewhere in the room. They had but a drop of potion still flitting around their fingers, which they directed at a chair. "_Cataclysm_," they yelled, and it took all of two seconds for the chair to turn black and crack apart into dozens of useless pieces. Their hand dropped to their side. "So it doesn't work on miraculous," they said aloud, voice dangerously low. "_Duly_ noted."

Lila stumbled for the exit, but just as she had set her hand on the door knob, a gloved hand caught hers and forced her to turn around. "I'm not done with you yet," the Sorcerer said.

"Let me leave," Lila begged breathlessly.

"No. I want to make sure you're not going to make that same mistake."

"Trust me, I won't."

"A perfect liar like you, why should I believe that?" Their voice dripped with scorn. "Your vendetta is useful to me, but I want to make sure it doesn't get in the way of you knowing your fucking place."

Lila pulled on her arm and the Sorcerer released it. They tended to know when they were pushing too far. The only light illuminating the room filtered through closed curtains, and it reflected faintly off the silver surface of their false face. Lila stared, but she could not see the Sorcerer's eyes through the mask's dark slits, as if nothing but pure darkness rested behind them.

The Sorcerer was not like Hawkmoth. Hawkmoth was far from kind, but he at least he seemed to have some respect for Lila, until, of course, he gave up the act. She'd been so suddenly, so painfully uprooted, that it almost felt safer to know just how little the Sorcerer cared. But then again, if the Sorcerer hated her so, yet still kept her around, it was because they _needed_ her. At least they knew that, despite clearly being unhinged.

Lila rested against the door as the Sorcerer slowly stepped away. Gingerly, she whispered, "I can make this up to you."

"How is that?"

"I know your first plan…" Lila glanced at the ruined chair, "...didn't work out. But maybe all hope isn't lost."

The Sorcerer balled their fists but didn't say a word.

"Maybe it would be helpful to know their identities?"

A pause. "And what does that entail?"

"I can get Conspiracy's help. Let's just say, personal history has led me to suspect certain people of certain things. We can use that to our advantage."

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no? I haven't even told you-"

"I'm sorry, have you still not gotten it through your thick fucking skull?" Broken glass snapped beneath the Sorcerer's shoes. "Stay in your lane. Do only as I tell you to."

"I'm not being unreasonable here. The first time I attacked with Conspiracy, I found Ladybug and Chat Noir near Gabriel Agreste's house. And I didn't lead them. They went completely on their own. Why would they be there, just standing and waiting, if they didn't suspect him too?"

The Sorcerer pulled at their hood. "I don't care about your _suspicions_."

"But this could change the game!" Lila was frustrated now, blood boiling at her ally's stubbornness. She stepped forward. "Get this, he has a baby! That could be useful to-"

The Sorcerer yanked Lila's collar and managed to lift her off the ground. Lila gave a choked yelp. "Are you insane?" they bellowed, deep, muffled voice reverberating off the walls. "A baby? Is this a joke?"

"He really has one," Lila rasped.

"Moron," they grumbled. "Absolute psychopath."

They dropped Lila on the floor, and she nearly toppled over into a bed of glass shards. "You're deranged. I didn't mean we'd actually hurt the baby."

"Sure you didn't." The Sorcerer turned around, violet cloak dragging behind them. "I don't give a fuck about Gabriel Agreste or his baby. Do what you're told and nothing else. Rather than let you ruin this for me, I'd sooner-" They cut themselves off with a sharp inhale. "Get out of here."

Lila held her breath until they had gone, opening up a door and slamming it shut behind them. She made sure she still had the miraculous around her neck and found another exit. Once she had emerged, she squinted into the afternoon sunlight and smiled like she was fine.

When she got home, her mother reprimanded her for leaving the windows open and letting akumas inside. Lila waited through their seemingly endless embrace of relief that she was unhurt before she returned to her room and phoned the police station to let them know she hadn't been whisked away to her death. She responded to her many gratifying text messages from concerned classmates and emails from her teachers, all of them expressing their sympathy for her troubling circumstances.

And then she broke out a pen and paper and got to work on her next plan.

Lila Rossi was no mark on the wall. Lila Rossi did not stay in her place. She made every place hers.

* * *

**So, this chapter was a little different, but I hope you found it interesting. **

**What do you think is going on? What do you think Lila is going to do? **

**~ Lullaby**


	11. Chapter 10

**I am very, very sorry for the length of this one. It took on a mind of its own. **

Chapter Ten

"So, Mrs. Agreste," Marinette said, "how is it going with the grimoire and the sorcery? Adrien mentioned you've actually managed to make a lot of progress these past several days."

Nathalie sat with the girl in the living room as they waited for Adrien to fetch his father from upstairs. She took a sip from her water glass and offered a polite smile, through her lips felt the strain of force. "I've learned a lot," she answered. There was a certain crispness to each of her words, so that when her brief sentence plateaud into its end, it felt for a moment that she had managed to say something of any substance in response to her young companion. Marinette's eyes widened with intrigue, only for her to realize a few seconds later that Nathalie had in fact told her nothing at all, and she would have to press a little if she wanted any meaningful information.

"And what have you learned?" she asked. The red kwami sitting on her shoulder looked just as interested but much less confident, her own dark blue eyes darting between her holder and Nathalie as she nibbled on a square of chocolate.

Hardening her tone even more so, Nathalie replied, "I have successfully made each of the kwami power-up potions save for the one called spirit. It contains an ingredient which eludes my understanding."

"I've personally never made spirit either," Marinette said. "Master Fu had given it to me once, but I never used it. And I never knew how to create it on my own."

"The previous guardian never taught you?"

"No." Mairnette glanced away. Her kwami leaned its head against her holder's chin, sighing lightly. "I was there to witness him make the aqua power-up. The others I had to figure out myself. Although, it became a lot easier once I was actually given the grimoire's translations."

Nathalie dipped her head and took another sip of water, hoping the conversation could end while it was still directed on Marinette. But the young lady turned back and brought herself in inch closer, having shaken the sadness from her gaze. "Adrien said something about you managing to use the power-ups yourself. When I heard that, you should have seen the look on my face. Maybe when we have more time, you will have to tell me everything you have discovered. I'm sure this stuff is all recorded somewhere out there in the world, but it would be helpful for me to have."

"I'd imagine so."

"And you're not too overwhelmed with it? This whole sorcery thing is very new to us after all. I'm sure it's a lot to absorb in such a short amount of time."

"I appreciate your concern, but it isn't too much."

This time, it seemed that her tone came across more strongly, because Marinette shrank back. Not by much, but just enough that Nathalie regretted her sharpness and thought to apologize. She knew she was being unfair to Marinette, who was an authoritative figure on this side of the fight. A part of her expected every word out of Marinette's mouth to be a challenge or a trick, and she should have known much better than that. Marinette's previous slight - her only real slight - had stung deeply, but by now, it was embedded within a stretch of time they were no longer facing. Just ten days ago, she had falsely offered their miraculous because she knew they would refuse, because the reminder might pain them. But Nathalie was in no place to resent her for it now. Not while a common enemy threatened to shake them apart. If Marinette had been scrambling for a conflict to bridle, she ended up with more than she bargained for, and they were all paying for it.

"Oh," Marinette said. She stroked Tikki with her index finger. "I'm glad to hear that."

But Nathalie frowned, because she had been right to ask: the sorcery _was_ too much, wasn't it? Or was it not enough? Nathalie could no longer tell the difference. She felt as though she could be giving everything and it wouldn't suffice. And really, that was her problem more than anything, that she didn't know how to tell this teenage girl that she'd done more magic in the last week than she ever imagined herself doing again, and it felt like it was getting her nowhere.

She heard her husband and step-son traveling down the stairs, and in the next moment they'd arrived in the living room. Gabriel had been nursing his head injury all day, resting in bed upon Nathalie's insistence. He was dressed down now, wearing a sweatshirt and black joggers, and beside Nathalie, Marinette appeared surprised to see him looking so casual. He took his seat on Nathalie's other side, and Adrien leaned against an armchair, Plagg floating beside his head with his arms crossed.

Marinette rubbed her hands together and rose from the couch. "Okay," she began, clearing her throat. "About today, here's what we know. Now, take all of this with a grain of salt. It's from Lila's mouth. According to her, Conspiracy and the Sorcerer have her trapped in this arrangement, and she believes resisting them, or even submitting her miraculous peaceably to us would be a risk to her life. I want to believe that she's being truthful because I don't believe she would otherwise be so openly antagonistic towards us outside of a battle if her heart was as dedicated to the cause as her teammates'. Lila is capable of playing innocent, but she _chose _not to. If she's taking the opportunity to be transparent, I think we should listen."

"Well, I don't," Plagg grumbled. "I'll never trust a word out of her. Even if there's partial truth to what she says, I don't believe that she's giving us the whole story. And if it's not the whole story, I want nothing to do with it."

"We need to take what we can get," Tikki countered. "We don't have much."

"This is what I think," Adrien said before Plagg could argue back, "Lila is not our biggest threat. She is our most familiar threat because we've all had to deal with her before, but with people like Conspiracy and the Sorcerer on her side we can't continue to obsess over her. That doesn't mean," he added, pressing two fingers into Plagg's lips, "that we aren't wary. But I think we can agree that her allies are at the heart of this issue."

Gabriel squinted at the floor. "The way Conspiracy fights...it's difficult to tell how dangerous he really is. He doesn't seem interested in causing us any real harm. He told me today that it is not his goal to hurt me, and he has nothing but the opportunity to do so, especially while I can hardly lay a finger on him."

"He didn't hurt me either," said Marinette. "Maybe he tried, but after hearing what it was like for you, I have to wonder if he was ever truly attempting to land a blow on me."

"So what does that say? That whatever he's after has nothing to do with us," Plagg explained, turning his eyes on Adrien again. "It's not personal with him, but it is with Lila. That's why she's the bigger threat."

"And there's a pretty big chance that he knows my identity considering the disappearance of the box. Lila doesn't know who I am, I'm sure of that by now. But Conspiracy? He must. But he's never…" Marinette trailed off, her sharp gaze glossing over as a thought crept upon her. Nathalie watched as she took a step closer to Adrien, who pulled her under his arm. More quietly, she continued, "He's never gone after me."

Finding her behavior alarming, Nathalie asked, "Hasn't he?"

"No, not that I can be sure."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm worried, and perhaps a little paranoid," Marinette replied. "Even Ladybug can't have it all together, not at a time like this."

Nathalie was about to pose further questions but was interrupted by Adrien. "There's still so little we know about the Sorcerer," he pointed out, lacing his fingers through Marinette's. "Like how they learned everything they know. They clearly seem experienced."

"Experienced enough to almost break a miraculous," Gabriel muttered.

"It seems obvious to me," said Tikki, leaping off of Marinette's shoulder. "The only way another person could have obtained that knowledge was if they had some kind of connection to the Temple. I'm willing to bet that Conspiracy does as well, considering all the other miraculous but the ones contained in your box, Marinette, had been destroyed until their restoration three years ago."

"Either they are from the Temple," Marinette agreed, "or they found a way to get their hands on some materials like you had, Mr. Agreste."

Gabriel shook his head. "I doubt it. Emilie and I had difficulty finding the miraculous, but I imagine the task would have been truly impossible if there were guardians there to defend them. We would have had no chance. No two random people could just waltz into such an important temple as that and take what they wanted."

"So they must be guardians themselves?" wondered Adrien. "But why are they attacking us if that's the case? If they had any authority, they wouldn't have to start a fight."

"Perhaps they've gone rogue," said Plagg.

"Rogue guardians?"

"It's happened before," Tikki murmured.

"What we know for sure is they have information, and they seem to have training."

"Do you think loyal guardians would have noticed that something was wrong by now?"

"We don't know how connected they are to the rest of the world."

Nathalie set her glass on the coffee table and stood up, drawing all eyes to her. "I think there's an explanation for all of this," she declared, staring at Marinette. "Conspiracy and the Sorcerer not only have to have a connection to the temple in Tibet, but one or both of them needs to know who you are in order for it to be possible for them to have taken the box. The only other person who knows your identity outside of us is the previous guardian."

A hush fell over the room. Marinette's face drained of color, while at her side, Adrien widened his eyes and retracted his arm from around her waist. Marinette stared at Nathalie as though the older woman had spit at her. She'd only looked this angry once before. Nathalie tried not to let her memories recoil that far back.

Marinette shook her head fervently, fingers curling into tight, white fists. . "No," she murmured, voice hardly above a whisper. "Master Fu has nothing to do with this."

"I'm not saying he's to blame," Nathalie said. Tikki and Plagg both drew close to their holders, each looking similarly offended at her suggestion. "I'm saying what is true, that he was the sole other person who shares the knowledge of your identity. And not only your hero identity, but of the fact that you are the guardian, that you had the box. The only box not currently at the temple."

"He would never have put us in danger."

"I don't mean that he did it intentionally. You realize that he may have returned to the temple and that the other guardians made him share everything that had happened in the one hundred-seventy-four years they had been gone? You realize he may not have had a choice, and that by officially naming you the guardian he has associated you _with_ the Order? Marinette, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone at that temple knows your name, and if there was one person or two people who had wayward goals and no way out, they could have used you as their means to achieve whatever it is they're looking for."

Marinette closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Please. I can't deal with this right now. I won't believe that's what happened."

Adrien reached out to her, "Marinette…"

"No, Master Fu did not just return to the temple and tell them everything. You want to know how I know? Because no one else ever showed up to help us. I don't have any other information except the one grimoire he handed me, and that's not enough." Her voice faltered at the end of her sentence as tears pooled in her eyes. Tikki nuzzled her holder's cheek. "If the other guardians knew about me, I wouldn't have been left to flounder. They would have done something. They would have come. They would have..."

A pang of sympathy bloomed in Nathalie's chest. "I didn't want to upset you, Marinette," she murmured as Adrien pulled his girlfriend into his chest. "But do you have another explanation? I'd be willing to hear it."

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Gabriel had risen and now gazed down at her softly. "I believe that you might be onto something, dear," he told her. "So far, it is the only idea that adds up."

"It doesn't add up," Marinette protested between her teeth.

"The math isn't perfect no matter how you look at it, but this is the closest we'll get to an answer."

"Until we know for sure, I'm not accepting that," she muttered.

Nathalie scowled and turned away. She had always thought Marinette to be practical, but it had become quite evident that the young heroine was prone to being swayed by her emotions. Nathalie supposed that she was not much different after all, but unlike Marinette, she was going to cling to whatever explanation could be pieced together to make sense of the last several days, whether anybody else liked it or not. To have the thought in her head granted her this flicker of exhilaration that she was desperate to keep alive, though, she realized soon enough, it could not burn away the dense, pervasive apprehension in her mind, which still, despite the ferocity of assurance, compelled her to reach for her husband's hand and squeeze it, so that he squeezed it back and leaned close enough she could feel his breath on her cheek.

The conversation continued as Gabriel asked Adrien and Marinette about their battle with Volpina, and later their questioning of Lila. The group was interrupted twice: once by Alain's knock on the living room's glass door, a moment that made each of them jump for fear that he had been listening, but luckily, he'd only come to alert Gabriel and Nathalie that he was leaving for the day and would see them tomorrow; the second interruption was by Anaïs, whose cries through the baby monitor on the coffee table beckoned Nathalie up to the nursery to care for her. What she found to be strange was that Adrien and Marinette moreso seemed unusually relieved by the pauses in the conversation. Her tense narrow shoulders relaxed during the interruptions, and eyes she struggled to maintain on the faces of her companions lifted again at every lull.

Nathalie found their retelling of the story odd as well, and she had a sense they weren't informing her and Gabriel of everything. She kept shifting her gaze to her husband's face, to search for any indication that he was noticing something peculiar, but aside from a couple twitches of his lip, he seemed entirely unbothered apart from the expected thorniness at the subject. Nathalie didn't know if his head injury was making him much less sharp than usual, or if she was just imagining things. Once again, she cursed herself that she couldn't manage to heal him.

Eventually, they all began to tire of the conversation, hitting deadends in their abilities to make sense of the day. Adrien and Marinette dismissed themselves to work on homework, which they'd been falling behind on since the ordeal began.

"Before you go," Nathalie said. Her eyebrow quirked at Marinette's hardened jaw, though she supposed that could have just been a sign of exasperation, "is there anything else you want to share? Anything you may have omitted in your story?"

Adrien and Marinette exchanged glances while their kwamis mirrored them. Adrien then shook his head, his blonde hair swaying softly around his face. "No," he answered. "We've told you everything."

"Are you sure?"

Her step-son grinned, his green eyes shining like a pair of leaves catching sunlight. He set a hand on her shoulder. "Everything's good, Nathalie. Don't worry, okay?"

The warmth in his tone eased her. She set her own hand over his and smiled back. "Okay, love."

Adrien withdrew. He opened the door for Marinette, and they left.

* * *

Six hours later, Gabriel called her name. "Nathalie, dear."

"Yes?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

Gabriel gazed at Nathalie from where he stood at the atelier's half-open door. The curtains had just been rolled shut, blocking out the black night on the other side of the window. Nathalie had not even noticed her husband stand. Her materials were spread across Alain's empty desk, which was more barren than hers and therefore a better location to continue studying. Nooroo had been observing from atop a desk light, but now that his master had risen, he elevated with a flap of his wings and hung between the pair, waiting for Nathalie's response.

She looked over her notebook, the grimoire, and her tablet, as well as the row of vials she had sitting in an open and mostly-empty drawer. She had been holding her pen so tightly that her thumb was starting to blister. She dropped it on the page. "No, I couldn't sleep now. I'm trying to work something out."

Gabriel looked reluctant. "I think you should come with me."

"I have a baby monitor with me. I'll be fine, but you." She pivoted the chair towards him. "You should rest. It was sweet of you to stay up with me as late as you did, but you need to take care of your injury."

"I'm alright, Nathalie," he insisted.

"Perhaps you are, but you should sleep just in case." He looked ready to protest, but clamped his mouth shut when she got to her feet and approached him slowly. "But, before you go, I have a request. Do you mind if I take the butterfly miraculous for the night?"

He stuck his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt, where he kept the brooch, eying her reluctantly. "What are you planning to do with it?"

"Something useful, I hope."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, and Nathalie feared he would refuse her, but then his stone blue gaze flicked over her shoulder to the kwami still floating in the middle of the room behind her. "Nooroo," he addressed, his voice deep and calm as he brought the purple brooch out of his pocket. "See to it that she doesn't overwork herself."

"Yes, Master."

He placed the miraculous in her palm and clasped his hand over hers. A chill rippled through her body. It was the first time she had touched a miraculous in two years. Nathalie shut her eyes as he pulled her close and kissed her mouth. "Good night," he murmured against her lips. "Come to bed soon, okay?"

"Depends on how well this goes," she replied, smiling as his cool fingertips grazed against her cheek on their way to brush some hair back. "I wouldn't wait up. Thank you, darling. Trust me, okay? I'll be fine."

He squeezed her hand and departed, leaving the atelier door open. Nathalie's shadow cut through the fan of light spreading across the hallway's hardwood floor, and she remained there until Gabriel's slow footsteps up the stairs had faded, and the closing bedroom door echoed softly through the house.

"My Lady," asked Nooroo as she returned to the desk. "What are you planning to do with that miraculous?"

She set the brooch down on top of the grimoire she had just flipped shut and grabbed her pen off her mostly-blank notebook page. "Marinette and Adrien mentioned earlier today that Lila disappeared in a flash of light," Nathalie said, chewing on the cap. Nooroo drifted into a seated position right beside his own miraculous. "Isn't that what happened to Gabriel this morning? He was facing Conspiracy one moment, and the next, he was in our garden."

Nooroo nodded. "Yes. I didn't see anyone, but we were blinded for a moment, and then we were transported from the alley. It happened faster than I could describe."

"So, you were teleported." Nathalie underlined a note on the page. "And isn't it the horse miraculous that has that function?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"Well, either there's someone transforming with the horse miraculous, or the Sorcerer is doing what they seemed to do when they nearly destroyed the butterfly during the last attack - mimicking a miraculous's power through sorcery. In fact, I wonder if that's why they have the miracle box at all. The miraculous give them a source of power they can use to make potions." She sighed, leaning back in her chair and pressing the pen to her temple. "Unfortunately, that doesn't explain how they managed to mimic a cataclysm without the black cat miraculous."

Nooroo's big eyes darted back and forth, his wings drooping. "Yes…"

"What is it, Nooroo?" she prompted.

"Nothing, My Lady, only that you, yourself have proven that it is possible to take a miraculous without the holder being aware."

Nathalie stared at the butterfly kwami for a moment before it occurred to her what he meant. She pushed her chair forward again, setting her arms on the desk. "How did you know about that?" she asked, making the creature flinch by the severity of her voice.

"Duusu told me," he replied as his wings trembled, "while we were reunited in the miracle box. She told me everything that had happened to you and to Miss Emilie while you were using the peacock miraculous, everything that I wasn't able to witness myself. According to her, there was one night that you had used the peacock miraculous to steal Chat Noir's ring, but that you had returned it before he knew it was missing."

Nathalie blinked at him, heart sinking through her chest like it was made of lead. Her stare faltered to her now clenched hands. "I wonder what you must have thought of me when you heard that," she murmured. "Did Duusu tell you everything else I did that night?"

"My Lady, that is a history long past us. You must understand my point, that the Sorcerer may have taken Chat Noir's ring without him being aware."

"No. _I _knew Chat Noir's identity."

"And as you suggested earlier today, the Sorcerer and Conspiracy might know as well."

Nathalie glanced down at the open drawer of vials. One of them, the familiar blue seemed to gleam brighter than the rest. She swallowed her oncoming impulse like she was forcing a coin down her throat and slammed the drawer shut. "I don't want to think about this. What I want to know is how I can do what the Sorcerer does by replicating a miraculous's power. If they can teleport, then it must be possible."

"Maybe the answer is plainer than you think. Ask yourself what this miraculous and the peacock can do." He held up his own brooch. "Your intention is to use this in a way that it is not necessarily built for, but when you think about it, there are many ways in which its power can reflect the abilities of miraculous other than itself. Pushing the boundaries is what they do."

Nathalie stiffened. Against her heart's will, her mind leaped back into those two-year-old memories of a dying woman trying to fix everything.

She gripped the edge of the desk. She was watching herself plunge from rooftop to rooftop, each and every surface rising up to catch her faster than she was ready to meet it. Her chest tightened, and she screwed her eyes shut, trying to think of something useful. Then, her memory of that sentimonster - that snake-like creature that slithered through the streets of Paris in the dark to steal the black cat miraculous - resurfaced, like it was emerging from sand under her feet. She remembered how it was born in a room miles away from her, how it phased through every wall she couldn't face for herself, how she watched it slip the ring of Adrien's finger while he slept, as clearly as though she was standing there herself, tugging at it with her own guilty fingers. Maybe the horse miraculous allowed one to displace her body, but Nathalie's - _no_, the peacock's power - allowed her to displace her _mind_. Nathalie removed her glasses and dropped them on the desk to drag her palms over her eyes, exhaling heavily.

"My Lady," Nooroo said, and she looked at him. "It's okay."

"I think I understand what you mean, Noooroo," she murmured. "The peacock's ability is to create sentimonsters, but in truth I could do more than just _make_ them. I could move _with_ them. They shared my consciousness. Everything they could do, I made them do. Everything they had, I gave them. A miraculous's expression of power is greater than the sum of its parts."

"I think so too," Nooroo said. "Think of this: the rabbit miraculous gives its holder time-traveling abilities, but can't it also create and destroy just as definitely as the ladybug and cat miraculous? All it takes a single wrong move to warp the timeline completely. That's a further consequence of it's already existing power. The holder's capacity to utilize it is what gives it meaning, is what makes it dangerous."

"So, I should think of replicating miraculous's magic as its power and my own power compartmentalized?"

"Yes."

"That's a start," Nathalie whispered, and she felt some of the tension in her body ebb away. The bitterness on her tongue was more persistent but with several more moments of silence, it soon left as well. Then, Nathalie reached out and closed her hand over the butterfly brooch. "How would a butterfly potion even work? If I throw it at someone would it akumatize them?"

Nooroo twitched his wings in amusement. "Maybe something like that. You should think of the butterfly miraculous as it is intended to be used. I am the kwami of generosity; my magic is about empowerment, and my nature is to give in hardship. Whatever is needed, I can provide."

She smiled. "I never thought of it that way."

"Master used me a bit differently."

She glanced down. "Well, where do I go from here?"

"Start with an empty vial."

Nathalie dug one out of the drawer and filled it a bit with water at the kitchen sink - every potion began with at least a little water. She returned the atelier and set the vial on the desk, gripping the brooch in her hand even tighter.

Gabriel could experience the miraculous's power even while he wasn't transformed, as long as the brooch was pinned to him and Nooroo, active. But Nooroo was active now, and Nathalie wondered if she could feel emotions even with the brooch simply held in her palm. She was starting to think the way they functioned wasn't so black and white. Wanting to find out, she closed her eyes and focused her mind on the feeling of the miraculous on her skin, its weight and the warmth radiating from its center. When she steadied her breathing, she could sense the faint pulse of its life, and when she wondered if that was merely the feeling of her own heartbeat in her thumb, a moment passed when she realized the pulse was too slow to be her own. She counted multiple seconds between each delicate beat, sharpening her mind, trying to feel what it felt, hoping its magic could soak into her skin.

Minutes passed of nothing, and Nathalie found her grip hardening and hardening until both of her hands shook, but still, she could feel it pulsing. She could feel it stronger than she could feel her own heart, and if she could lodge it between the tendons in her hand then maybe it would still not feel close enough. Nathalie's breath hitched and shuddered out of her mouth, as very suddenly she was jolted by a rush of horror and shame, churning her insides so that she felt sick.

The brooch clattered on the floor as Nathalie bent forward, shaking out her hands as though they'd been burned. A shocked breath fired sharply into her lungs. She sat there for a moment as she gathered her senses, waiting for the heat in her skin to fade.

"My Lady," called Nooroo.

She groaned covering her face, "It didn't work."

"No, my Lady, it did." She raised her eyes to glare at him. He floated just low enough that his little feet barely brushed against the surface of the desk. Concern made his eyes wide and shiny. "What did you feel?"

"I don't know. Everything was fine until I…" She trailed off. A hand dropped and dangled above the drawer containing her many potions. And her medicine. Need was a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. She couldn't force out the rest of her sentence.

"My Lady, you sensed _your own_ emotions." Nooroo retrieved the brooch off the floor and set it carefully on top of the grimoire once more.

"What?"

"You felt them as you would feel them normally, but you also felt them as translated through the miraculous. That is to say," he added, blinking, "it _worked_."

It worked.

She used a miraculous.

Nathalie threw open the drawer and reached for her medicine. Nooroo offered not a word as she swallowed the contents of the vial. The next moment, she pulled out the green healing potion, the remaining half of its substance still swirling around in the glass, before she set it down on the desk and fired up her tablet to open up the grimoire's translations.

"This," she said, holding up the vial she had just emptied, the taste of which persisted in her mouth and throat, "has ingredients completely unique to the peacock miraculous, and one ingredient, aside from water, that it shares with this." She placed the empty glass down and grabbed the green healing potion. "That ingredient gives each of them their healing properties, as it does to every other healing potion in this grimoire, including the one connected to the butterfly miraculous. Eliminating that one ingredient leaves me with the beginning of a potion totally unique to the butterfly. That's the next step."

She flipped through her translations until she found what she was looking for, the instructions for a butterfly healing concoction. She copied the list onto her notebook, leaving out the common ingredient, a drop of ethanol. Then, she rose from her seat to gather what she needed.

"You're going to continue working?" Nooroo asked. He glanced at the dark window. "It is getting late, and Master told me - "

"I know, but there's no point in sleeping after all that."

Once she had acquired what she needed and taken some time to check on and feed the baby, Nathalie filled the vial with each necessary component until she had come up with an unremarkable murky mixture, which she set on the center of the desk.

"How does this work?" she wondered aloud, more to herself than to Nooroo. "Is it like the power-up? Does it have to react to…"

She dropped the brooch into the vial, hoping it would trigger something, that the potion would sparkle and light up like her hand did into a ball of flames, but nothing happened, it sank to the bottom and _nothing happened_. Nathalie sucked in her cheeks, feeling a little silly.

"Nooroo, could you touch it?"

He did, but the mixture was as lifeless as ever. He fished the brooch out and set it on a paper towel.

Nathalie dried it off. "I suppose I just…" She palmed it. "Keep trying. If I can sense the magic at a distance, there has to be a way to draw it out, right?"

"Perhaps so, my Lady."

Nathalie moved to the couch for that, crossing her legs and pressing the miraculous into the center of her palm. Her heart rate accelerated as she sensed its energy once more, reminded of that surge of fear that gripped her the closer she felt to its power, and to the person she used to be. Nooroo tried to encourage her once more to take a break for the night, but she refused.

She shut her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, keeping it rhythmic and slow, while each crest of dread that surfaced out of the calm she forced was pushed below again. She tried to feel the fear in her own body before feeling it in the miraculous, so it didn't sweep her under again, so she could brave it if it came and silence it if it tried to stay.

_You can do this. It's the _butterfly.

With her eyes closed, this brooch didn't feel much different from the peacock. Small and hard and lightweight, smooth and warm and teeming with magic that once consumed her, even when she wasn't wearing it. She couldn't get far enough away. The cloak of its power hung off her body everywhere she went, dragging her further and further down until she was drowning, tangled in its grip. She handed the miraculous over for the last time, and days later she closed her eyes to blackness, expecting never to know light again. She was too weak now to break the surface. Too weak to anything but sink lower. Lower. She did it because she wanted to. She did it because it was going to be okay without her. She did it because -

Nathalie flinched as her emotions screamed out through the magic. They felt sharp and old somehow. The miraculous bit into her skin. She loosened her grip. She kept her eyes shut. She waited for it to pass.

_You can do this. You can. _

This time, she didn't squeeze her hand closed. She let the miraculous sit freely in her cupped palm. Her knuckles ached from curling her fingers so tightly.

_You have to do this_.

She tried again, and it took much longer, now. She wondered how much time was passing, and then she scolded herself for wondering because she needed to focus. Her mind was dulled by the trepidation hovering at the periphery of every thought she had. There was no use to being afraid, but she was _so used_ to being afraid. The thought of having broken apart one day was just as humiliating as the thought of having always been like this, but she preferred the possibility that she'd changed, that she'd become worse, because that meant she could change _back_. So when did it all start? When she had a baby? When she got married? When she learned that she didn't have to let go?

Another flare of emotion burst within her and she clenched her teeth. Nathalie dropped the butterfly miraculous on the coffee table. She opened her eyes and stared at it, stared at its deep violet center, tried to find that rhythm in the way the light reflected off its surface. She wondered if a miraculous knew whether it was pinned to a holder or carried in their hand.

She leaned close to it, squinted her eyes, watched as carefully as she could, until she saw it. That movement. That pulse. A part of her questioned if it was just an illusion her mind was fabricating out of desperation to make something work. Desperation. She remembered how that felt, like the pull of gravity, like a wrench in the heart, like a rope around the neck - it _burned_, not with heat or with cold but with some sensation unlike any other. She reached for it now. She tried to. She wondered if she could grasp it, feel it, draw it _out_, make it _hers_, if this was the way it worked.

There was this tension in the air...like a thin film, something she could tear apart with her fingernails.

And when she pressed against it, she inhaled sharply, for there was this brush against her throat.

Was this all in her head? Was this just a memory?

There was pressure on her chest, and she couldn't breathe. Had she found it? Was this the emotion? She pushed further, and the air seemed to bend and curve and she was desperate to break free. Trapped beneath the surface of water, drowning again, fingers never able to puncture through the wall, and it didn't make sense because she was supposed to be free now.

Suddenly, Nooroo flew into view. "My Lady, I think you should stop. This isn't good for you."

"No, I'm okay," she insisted, fighting not to lose her concentration.

But Nooroo surprised her. "Nathalie," he said, and she turned to him in shock that he used her name. "This isn't the way to do this."

Whatever connection she'd forged, she lost it. Her mind struck something solid as stone. "It was _working_."

"You're scared of the miraculous, but this isn't going to help you heal from that. You're _relying_ on your misery."

She said nothing.

"You've made significant progress on this, but I don't know how easy it will be to do what the Sorcerer is able to do. I know your nature. You want to help." He came closer and put a little hand on her knee, quieting his voice. "This might not be the way to do it."

Nathalie winced. "What do you think? That I should stand by?"

"No, if you are to help, then you must try to confront your fear rather than cling to it," he said delicately twitching his wings.

"You think I should take up the peacock again?" she whispered.

"It won't hurt you," he told her.

"I know. It's fixed," she said hollowly.

"You should do what is best for you, my Lady." He glanced at the butterfly miraculous and shook his head.

"But…"

"This is not the way."

Nathalie turned away, her anxious expression finally falling. Her heart was tough and her mind, weary.

Nooroo let her be once he saw that her attention was fixed anywhere else but on the miraculous. He drifted off to the other side of the room while she remained cross-legged on the couch, hugging herself lamely and staring at the bookshelves behind her husband's work station. What was she meant to do if this was not the correct path? Marinette had asked this of her, but it seemed like she and everyone else was reluctant to let her continue, like they were scared for her. The feeling made her skin crawl.

A number of photographs sat framed in some of the gaps between books and various glass decorative pieces on the shelves. There was one of Anaīs just days old, one of Adrien holding her for the first time, another of Adrien standing in the nursery the day he and Gabriel surprised her by decorating it, the brightest look of joy on his face. She loved his joy, and she'd needed it then. She wanted his sunny smile to shine from within that frame and warm her heart, but the hair raised on her arms. She was cold.

Nathalie hadn't any idea how much time had passed when she finally told herself to get up. The night was only deepening, and she should be getting to bed. But she felt weighed down. Even as her eyelids drooped, she couldn't bring herself to rise, remove her things from Alain's desk and retire upstairs. Maybe it had something to do with the miraculous still sitting on the coffee table, gleaming under the room's dim yellow light like an eye fixed on her. She couldn't help but be aware of it boring into her cheek as her head was turned, feel the heat of its life as though it blazed with the warmth of the sun .

_What do you want from me?_

She slipped it into her pocket and was all too aware of it pressing against her hip, but she hoped that that would lessen some of the guilt weighing heavy on her now.

She rested her head in the sofa cushions, fixing her eyes back on those photographs, on Adrien, whom she loved as her own son but had once failed so severely, it was nothing short of wondrous he forgave her; on Anaïs, whom she would give every breath of her life not to wrong the same way. That meant being everything she hadn't been to Adrien: honest, hopeful, strong, good. When she held her baby for the first time, Nathalie cried. She cried because she was the happiest she'd ever been, and she cried because she didn't understand how the universe could give her something so fragile and perfect when she was so prone to breaking things.

Nathalie rubbed her cheek. It was still warm, and after several minutes had passed, she still felt as though she was being watched, like the miraculous continued to stare her down from the outside. An eeriness crept up her spine and into the rest of her bones, sending a shiver rippling through her body, strong enough to whirl her body around to face Nooroo once again.

"My Lady, you're alarmed," he commented.

She knew by some kind of instinct. Something wasn't right. Nathalie tapped on the miraculous in her pocket, but she was too shaken now to focus on sensing anything through it. She sprung to her feet and rushed to the atelier door, looking out into the dark hallway. The shape of her own shadow seemed so much more menacing to her now.

"Is something wrong?"

The baby monitor was silent. Anaīs was asleep.

"Nooroo," she said, looking back at him. "Is there someone here?"

The kwami froze in the air, and Nathalie knew he was sensing for a presence. A moment later, his wings flickered, and he shook his head. "My Lady, your family is all asleep. There is nobody else in the house."

She should have been able to trust his power, but her pulse only quickened as he spoke. Was it Plagg playing a trick on her? Was she losing her mind? Nathalie wandered slowly out to the foyer, then to the kitchen and dining room, finding nothing out of sorts. She jumped when she thought she saw someone walk past, but it was her own onyx reflection in the living room's glass doors. Everywhere she walked, she couldn't shake away this faint pressure on her skin. Her scalp prickled with unease.

"I must be going mad," she muttered, standing back in the atelier.

"No, I think you only need to rest. Master told me not to let you overwork yourself."

Reluctantly, Nathalie agreed to gather her things and retire upstairs, but all the while she and Nooroo were doing this, she couldn't stop herself from throwing quick glances over her shoulders, pausing her movement to listen for noises that weren't really there. Having placed everything in the box she'd brought with her, she clutched the baby monitor and flinched as it crackled. But nothing else. Anaīs still slept. Nathalie stared across the room at the photo of her newborn daughter, letting the image of her peaceful slumber paint itself across her mind.

She climbed the stairs slowly. Every shadow in the dark could have belonged to an intruder. In the box, glass vials rattled together while her shaking hands fought to remain steady. Nooroo came to a rest on Nathalie's shoulder and leaned his head into her jaw, trying to offer comfort.

Setting the box down in her office, she swore she caught movement in the corner of her eye, rushing past the room as if someone had followed behind her. She called out, "Gabriel?" but received no response. She couldn't hear footsteps either.

Nathalie reached for a vial and grabbed the first one her fingertips brushed against. The blood potion, a soft orange in the dark, faintly reflected off of Nooroo's wide, uncertain gaze. She couldn't bother wondering if there was a better option. She left the office, digging into her pocket to pull out the butterfly miraculous, which she pinned haphazardly to her shirt.

"My Lady!"

Nothing. Nathalie felt nothing but her own racing heart. She made for her baby's room anyway, her footsteps light and soundless as though she weighed nothing. She found the door was half-open, just as she had left it. Nathalie paused, listening, listening, the vial nearly slipping out of her sweaty hand. She held her breath. And for just a moment, a long and torturous moment, the house was so silent that she could near the muscles in her neck working as she stretched her head forward.

Nathalie waited. She didn't know for how long she waited, but her lungs begged for air, and she did not relent. She waited until her heartbeat boomed in her ears and her left hand stopped feeling the glass in its steely grip.

She waited until the silence finally broke.

Until –

Anaīs whined.

Nathalie felt her soul leap out of her body. She barreled through the door, ice cold fear slicing through her chest like a spear, and joining it was this fierce, primal rage, a sensation she had never once felt before, not even through the miraculous. It was crippling, it contracted every muscle in her body, pierced every nerve, like the brooch was sinking into her skin and melting and poisoning her.

A horrified gasp lanced through the room when Nathalie saw him, that shadow in the room, a tall, dark blot against the pale pink wall. His head snapped to look her way. His face was indistinguishable through the pool of inky blackness that obscured him completely. Nathalie felt deathly sick at the sight of his broad, jagged wings, rising from his side to hover over the crib. Her baby laid within, her whines mounting into watery shrieks, and a switch flipped in her mind.

"_Get away from her_!"

She smashed the vial against the door. Shattered glass rained down from her tremorous fingers. The orange potion soaked into the skin she had split apart. Nathalie barely noticed the sizzling sting in the freshly bleeding abrasions. Her blood mixed with magic and it hurt like nothing else, but it didn't matter.

"Nooroo!" she cried, voice charged with lightning, "Wings rise!"

Purple light washed over her body, but Nathalie saw only red. She rushed forth, raising the cane that had formed in her unafflicted hand and tearing it through the air towards the shadow's head. But he vanished. The cane punched through the wall. Anaïs screamed. Nathalie could only spare a quarter of a second to look at her laying there, her fists and feet held up, her face screwed up in terror.

Nathalie knew by the chill on her scalp that he had reappeared behind her. She looked at her bleeding hand to find it glowing bright orange, the magic emanating from her body reacting with the potion. This wouldn't _work_ if she couldn't touch him. She made a fist, the blood trickling out from between her fingers.

She whirled around and lunged again. Those great black wings stretched out to stop her, but Nathalie wouldn't hold back. In the last second, his feathers smoothed out. She felt nothing as she made her collision, his silhouette melting into a cloud of smoke that enveloped her entirely. She was suddenly blind. Nathalie swung her cane through the darkness, trying to rip it apart. An incredible wrath fired through her blood. She pounded her fist against the floor, releasing an enraged shriek. The magic in her hand crackled and exploded beneath her in an utterly useless flare of power. The orange light dimmed and died.

_No, no, no!_

Somebody called her name, but she hardly registered it. The smoke lifted the very next second. Nathalie shot up, taking no more than a heartbeat to recognize the coast was clear before she practically careened into the crib. Footsteps and voices sounded out in the hallway, but she could pay no mind to them. Her baby. Her baby was crying. But her baby was here.

"Ana…" she choked out. Nathalie's cane dropped onto the floor. She reached for her daughter, only for her left hand to freeze in midair. It was soaked in blood. A crimson pearl streamed down her index finger and splattered on the crib mattress beside Anaïs's head.

"Nathalie!"

She stumbled back. A thousand thorns of fear sank into her skin and it didn't all belong to her. The butterfly miraculous poured emotion out over her body and set her aflame. Nathalie's knees buckled. Before she hit the floor, an arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her slowly down into a tight and desperate embrace. A sob trembled out from between her lips. She cried her daughter's name.

From her left side, Adrien stepped into view. Nathalie could see through the dark that he was white as a sheet. He reached into the crib and pulled his little sister out. Nathalie watched him press the infant to his chest, protecting her head with his hand as he bounced her up and down and tried to soothe her crying.

"Nathalie, Nathalie, my love, what happened?" Gabriel brushed her hair back and set his cool hand on her face. "Talk to me, please."

She couldn't say anything but her baby's name.

"I've got her," Adrien assured Nathalie, then he looked into Anaïs's face. "I've got you, Baby Girl. Everything's okay."

"Nathalie," Gabriel murmured again. He attempted to guide her eyes to his own.

"Gabriel," she sobbed. She wanted to bury her face in his chest, but to take her eyes off Anaïs was unthinkable. Adrien stroked her dark hair, his green gaze fixed on her. He gave her kiss after kiss and tried to shush her cries. _She's there. She's right there_, Nathalie told herself.

"Your hand," Gabriel said, taking her wrist. The blood had soaked into her sleeve, and she was only just now noticing her change in her appearance, the deep violet jacket and the white lace ruffle peeking through, dyed mostly scarlet now.

"It was _him_," Nathalie said. A violent hatred stabbed through her chest. She freed herself from Gabriel's arms and stumbled to her feet, holding her injured hand to her chest. "He was here. He was standing over her. He was going to…" She bent at the waist, gasping. "Oh, God."

Gabriel set a hand on her back. "Marinette," he called, steadying her, "Go get the first-aid kit. And some water."

Nathalie glanced back. The addressed young lady had been standing in the doorway the entire time, but Nathalie was only now taking notice of her. Marinette's countenance was pale with horror at the scene she'd witnessed. She'd been wringing her hands guiltily when Gabriel spoke to her. On his request, she dipped her head and disappeared, moving rather quickly, like she was eager to leave the room.

"What is she…?" Nathalie began to ask.

"Baby Girl's calming down," Adrien murmured. He continued to rock Anaïs as he went to turn the lights on for the rest of them, and only then did Nathalie see the damage that had been done. A hole was punctured into the wall above Anaïs's crib, there were scratches on the door made by shattered glass now piled in the entryway, and a black mark on the floor where the potion had faltered. Nathalie swayed, ill.

"You should sit down," Gabriel said and guided her to the rocking chair. Nathalie gathered her violet overskirt in her uninjured hand and sat. A glance at her reflection in one of the dark windows across the nursery revealed a disheveled ponytail, loose black strands framing a haunting expression. Nathalie couldn't believe it was her own face she was looking at, glaring grievously from behind a lacy white mask.

Her husband knelt before her, stroking her knee. "He was here?"

"I thought...I _knew_ that something was wrong," she whispered. "Nooroo said that everything was fine, but...I had to make sure. And he was standing there. Right over that crib. He…" She shook her head incredulously. "He found us."

"Did he hurt her?" Gabriel asked, his pale blue eyes going hard as stone.

"I don't think so."

He gave a sigh of relief. Over his shoulder, Adrien cooed at the baby, who continued to whine but had ceased her frightened crying. He kissed her nose, promised her everything was going to be alright.

Gabriel squeezed her leg. "Did he see you transform?"

"Transform…" she repeated. It took her a moment to process what he'd asked her, but when she realized, the question struck her like a blow to the chest. Her blood ran cold. Her fingers uncurled to release her overskirt, which spilled onto the floor. She wanted to leap out of her own skin.

"He did, didn't he?"

"Oh no," she wheezed. Shame rippled through her body, the pulse of the miraculous beating into her chest. "_No_."

She tore the brooch off, and the transformation was ripped away along with it. Nooroo appeared before her as the miraculous rattled on the floor, his eyes wide and teeming with sympathy. She found him agonizing to look at.

"Nathalie, don't panic." Gabriel reached for her face, brushing his thumb beneath her eyes. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," she cried. "He saw me."

"He was here anyway. He already knew."

Marinette returned with the first-aid kit, which Adrien took off her hands and gave to his father. She walked a water glass over to Nathalie herself, unable to meet the older woman's penetrating gaze. She sized up the girl, noticing how she was dressed in pajamas, her hair a mess from having been slept on. Both Tikki and Plagg hung timidly by her ears, looking just as full of guilt.

Nathalie rejected the water. A murderous scowl fell over her face. All of the anger she had directed at herself a moment ago, she aimed at Adrien when she turned to him and demanded, "Why is she still here?"

Both teenagers flinched. Neither answered.

"_Why_," Nathalie said again, " is she still here?"

Below her, Gabriel's own expression turned sour, but he did not interfere. He opened the first-aid kit and tried to take her bleeding hand, but Nathalie snatched it away and shot to her feet. "Marinette, why didn't you go home tonight?"

Stepping back several paces, Marinette stammered through a frightened apology, "I-I-I'm sorry, M-Mrs. Agreste. I—"

"We didn't know you were staying here," Nathalie growled. She would have felt awful for terrifying the girl so, had her child not just been threatened, had she not been so sick with rage at herself. Marinette nearly dropped the glass, half of its contents spilling out onto the floor.

Adrien was red as a beet. "We didn't do anything," he insisted.

"Oh, you think _that's_ what I mean?" laughed Nathalie. She outstretched her bleeding hand. "Be honest with me. I know you two didn't tell us everything this afternoon. You're keeping the truth from us."

Marinette looked down. "Don't blame Adrien. I thought-"

"Marinette," Adrien warned.

"I have to tell them," she said back softly. She rolled back her shoulders. "Last night, I thought…I thought I sensed someone in my room. Someone coming for my earrings. And I think it was Conspiracy."

"What?" Gabriel demanded.

She gulped and covered her face with one of her hands. "Tikki didn't sense anyone in the room. But if he would come again, I thought he would be coming for _me_. I wanted –"

"And you thought staying here was a better idea?" shouted Nathalie. The baby started whimpering.

"I wanted to be _here_," Marinette said, "I was afraid something like this would happen."

"Why didn't you say something?"

Adrien piped up. "Father." He appeared frightened by the thoughts in his own head. "We thought if Conspiracy came back for Marinette's earrings, he would go to her place instead. And we wanted to be here in case something happened because…" He pressed his eyes shut. "Because Lila told us she suspects you of being Hawkmoth."

Gabriel and Nathalie froze.

"We're sorry, Father. We're sorry but –"

"What happened to not hiding things from each other?" said Gabriel, his voice dangerously low. His words wounded Adrien.

"We didn't think this would happen." Marinette stared at Nathalie's hand, at the drops of blood that had pooled under her feet.

Nathalie gawked. "But _how_ could you not mention that?"

"Because!" Marinette cried. "I didn't want to upset you _again_."

The baby screamed.

"That's enough!" Gabriel barked, banging his fist on the dresser. "We're not having this conversation now. Take the baby and go!"

Adrien grabbed Marinette by the hand and pulled her along with him as he made for the hallway, and their two kwamis dashed out behind them. Anaïs's cries clawed a hole into Nathalie's heart, and they grew only slightly quieter as the door to Adrien's bedroom was shut. Nathalie wanted nothing else but to hold her baby. She wanted to fold her body around her and rock her and never release her again. She very nearly followed Adrien out of the room, but Gabriel kept her in place, gripping her shoulder and slowly lowering her back down into the rocking chair.

He began tending to her wounds, wiping the blood from her hand and her arm with wipes that stung far less than that potion. Nooroo kept his eyes on the floor as he floated gingerly to the opposite side of the room. He stopped in the same place they had found Conspiracy when they burst inside. Nathalie ducked her head, her uninjured hand curling tightly over the arm of the chair until her knuckles were white.

Gabriel finished cleaning her hand and fished for some bandages. "Nathalie," he breathed, her name shuddering on his lips. "Are you okay?"

He asked because the answer was obvious, and the question was needed to dissipate her shock and anger and force her to process what had just happened. Nathalie felt something waver inside her, and then finally snap apart.

She began to sob with her entire body. Everything from her feet to her shoulders quaked as she gasped to keep her breath. She could not keep her hand steady enough for Gabriel to wrap it in bandages.

"No," she wailed. Tears slid down her nose. She just wanted her baby. "No, no, no, no…"

When she closed her eyes, a shadow moved across her mind, striking a bitter fear into her heart stronger than any miraculous could manage.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Gabriel hoped she wouldn't need stitches. Some cuts were deeper than others. There was one in the center of her palm that worried him, but he wondered if it looked worse than it really was. She couldn't keep her hand still, so it was difficult to tell anyway.

It took a couple minutes, but he'd managed to bandage her up. The moment he finished, his fingers sank through her hair, brushing it out, pulling it away from her tear-soaked face. His own dam threatened to break as well, but he drank in a deep breath and held himself together. For her.

"Nathalie, darling," he uttered gently. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay, but with what had just occurred in that room minutes ago, it was a useless and stupid promise to make. Instead, he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. New ones came quickly to replace them. A dull heartache weighed heavy in his chest.

She started hiccuping, shoulders rocking back and forth. Gabriel encouraged her to control her breathing. She held on to him as if for dear life, and Gabriel had to nudge her bandaged left hand off his arm, not wanting her to aggravate it. It took several minutes, but slowly, Nathalie's sobs began to settle. She dropped her face over his head, heaving tiredly into his slept-on hair. Gabriel swayed along with her as the rocking chair gently tilted forward and back. The house was quiet now. The baby's cries had long since quieted in Adrien's room. He could hear nothing else but Nathalie's labored breath.

"My love," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you."

"No." She shook her head, burying her nose deeper into his hair. "Don't say that."

"After what happened today, I should have guessed they'd find us. I should have been more alert."

Nathalie started shaking. Gabriel withdrew, raising his hands once again to take her face between them. There was a smudge of blood on her nose, which made him grimace. Nathalie's eyes traveled across the room, and a couple fresh tears slipped free to pool where Gabriel's wrists met beneath her chin. "How could you blame yourself for anything," she asked him, voice wavering, "when you see what I've done?"

Gabriel frowned at her. The wall would definitely need to be fixed but he didn't care much for the marked floor or the scratches in the door. "Those are the least of my concerns, Nathalie. Listen to me, you protected our daughter. She's safe. She's okay. Conspiracy is gone."

"What if he comes back?" whispered Nathalie.

He ignored this. "Don't feel bad for what you had to do. You saved her."

Those blue eyes went dark, becoming as full of shadow as they were of tears, piercing directly through him to stare into some invisible place. Gabriel's hands slipped away from her face as he recoiled slightly. Her voice was so drowned in shivering breath, he could hardly make out her words when she asked, "For how long?"

Gabriel rose from his knees, but her gaze did not follow him. His heart leaped, for his greatest fear now was not for the incident that had so rattled the household, but for her. He spoke sternly in reply, gripping her shoulder. "Nathalie, I know it's terrifying, but you need to understand. Adrien said they already suspected us. There was nothing else you could have done."

Nathalie's brows pinched together in scrutiny as she brought her bandaged hand up close to her face. "No," she exhaled, curling and uncurling her fingers. "I could have done a lot more. And I could have done it sooner. This has been our life for ten days, and all I've been doing is sitting around playing with magic I don't even know how to use."

"You've been helping."

"How?" she snapped. "What have I done for you? Or for Marinette? I can set my own hand on fire, but I can't do anything the Sorcerer can do! I can't do anything without a miraculous." Her gaze fixed sharply on the butterfly brooch, which had spiraled from between her feet to the center of the room when she'd torn it off her chest. "But I failed at that too."

Gabriel pinched the miraculous between his thumb and forefinger, staring into its shiny violet surface. Across the room, Nooroo watched them through round eyes bright with fear and compassion, but when Gabriel tried to meet his gaze, the kwami looked down and faced his body towards the window.

"Nathalie, my love, I know that it feels hopeless right now but all of our efforts will amount to something. Yours as well." He walked back to her side. "You are not a failure. I'll say it as many times as you need to be told. _You are not a failure_."

She didn't believe him. He could tell by how quickly her chin dropped into her throat. "You don't understand…" she murmured. "All night, I've been trying, trying to do something right with that power, and the only thing I've learned is that the miraculous have been nothing but a source of misery for me."

Nathalie stood up slowly. She walked past Gabriel and paused over the crib, staring straight into the hole that had been made in the wall. "I _loved_ helping you, you know," she went on, her arms crossed, her eyes a pair of blue flames, "and maybe I loved power too, but no strength could compare to the thought of you finally being happy. It made everything worth it. For so long. But even before I found out about Adrien, fuck, it _hurt_. It still hurts. I feel…" She grabbed the crib's railing, bending forward as another sob wracked her body. Gabriel rushed to her side, setting a hand on her back. Even Nooroo inched towards them, but not near enough for Nathalie to notice. "I feel stuck. I feel broken. The miraculous can't hurt me anymore but it's already _ripped_ me apart."

"You're not broken, Nathalie. You're stronger than you know," he told her vehemently.

"No," she whispered, wearily shaking her head. "I'm tired."

"Come here," Gabriel murmured. He embraced her, and she fell against him, pressing her face into his neck. Gabriel stroked her hair, staring into the space behind her head, feeling himself become heavier and heavier beneath the dreadful weight of his guilt. He had to bear it, for he was sure that Nathalie could not stand for him to blame himself, but Gabriel knew that he harbored fault for all the suffering Nathalie endured. It was his grief, his stubbornness, his short-sighted desire that threw everybody around him into years of anguish and adversity. He clutched Nathalie tight against him, hoping she might feel his apology in his arms, in the way he kissed and kissed and kissed the side of her head. But he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Darling, I'm sorry."

She cried, saying nothing in response. A moment later, Gabriel pulled away and grabbed her waist. He kissed the tears off her face and licked the salt off his lips and leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm here," he sighed. It felt like such an empty thing to say. Gabriel would never leave her side again if he had the choice, but every squeeze of his fingers into her skin, every kiss on her eyelid seemed to go right through her. Never in his life had he been so desperate to have her healing power. He felt as though he was made of something cold and brittle, like old snow.

Gabriel led her out of the room, guiding her to sidestep the broken glass in the doorway. "Nooroo," he told the kwami, still lingering against the wall. "Will you clean this up? And please, leave us be."

Solemnly, the kwami dipped his head. "Yes, Master."

Gabriel brought Nathalie down the hall to their own bedroom. She'd tried to turn the other way to Adrien's room, but Gabriel whispered softly that he would bring the baby in a moment. He wanted her in bed first. He switched on the lights as they entered. The sheets laid in a tangled heap on the floor, having been quickly tossed away earlier. Gabriel had been drawn out of sleep by Nathalie's furious shout and the sound of something breaking. He hadn't been sure if what he heard was even real until he registered the baby's screams, after which he launched himself out of bed as fast as he could throw his body.

He had Nathalie change into some pajamas as he fixed their bed. It was one in the morning, but he knew they would fail to sleep for the rest of the night. Rest had been hard to come by anyway, but now it would be truly impossible. He turned on the ceiling fan, knowing Nathalie preferred a little white noise when she was stressed. In the bathroom, she splashed some water on her face and dabbed at her red swollen eyes. He called out to her, and she came to bed.

Once she was sitting up against her pillows, Gabriel gave her shoulder a gentle rub. "Wait here. I'm getting Anaïs," he said.

"Please."

He proceeded to Adrien's room and entered after giving a couple knocks on the door. Gabriel didn't find his son and Marinette as he expected them, in their pajamas sitting at the edge of the bed with the baby. Rather, they stood by Adrien's window, fully transformed as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Anaïs released a few fussy babbles from where she laid in Chat's arms.

"What's this?" Gabriel asked them, wary that the danger hadn't passed.

"We thought it would be safe to be transformed, just in case," Adrien explained, shaking some of his unruly blonde hair out of his eyes. "We...probably should have been more prepared earlier."

Gabriel scowled and approached them. He held his arms out for the baby, who Adrien promptly handed him. Anaïs seemed to him quite aggravated, but far from the state of upset she had been in when she was taken from her room. It was strange for him to see Marinette as Ladybug, standing with her head ducked and her hands fidgeting. Nervous. Ashamed.

"How's Nathalie?" Adrien quietly wondered.

"Upset, very upset." Gabriel brushed at the baby's hair. "I'm very worried for her."

"Will she be okay?"

"Nathalie is strong, stronger than she'll ever give herself credit for, but what happened tonight was…" He shook his head. "Worse than what we all walked in on. You don't understand what she's been through. Not even I do completely."

Marinette pressed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Adrien pried her hands apart from each other and slipped his fingers between hers. "Father," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I know we should have told you and Nathalie what had happened, but this has already been so hard on her. We were scared of -"

"You were trying to protect her," Gabriel finished, his voice firm, his anger at his son churning hotly within him. "I'm not mad at you for that, but I am furious that you decided the best way to do so was to hide this crucial information from us. We could have all been prepared for a situation like this, but instead we left Nathalie to face it alone. We were lucky she'd been awake, or it might have been too late before any of us got to Anaïs."

Adrien hung his head. He looked crushed. "I know, Father. I'm sorry." He looked ready to say more, but his words caught in his throat, teeth clenching shut.

Beside him, Marinette finally took courage. She lifted her masked face up to Gabriel, taking a step towards him. "Sir, I'm sorry too. Gravely sorry."

Gabriel's scowl deepened. "After everything you've already done, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I would have hoped you'd be far more mindful."

She winced, rattled by the heat in his tone. "I know, I've already messed things up with her before. Between offering the miraculous and asking about her medicine, I didn't think I could afford to hurt her again. It was stupid and selfish." She wiped her eyes. "I feel awful for what happened tonight."

One of Adrien's cat-ears flicked. He glanced at his partner and took her by the arm. "What medicine?" he asked.

Marinette tensed.

"Wait, the medicine for the peacock's damage? Didn't she stop taking that, like, a year ago?"

"Yes," Gabriel said, shooting another withering glare at Marinette, "But she still uses it sometimes. It calms her down. It's nothing to worry about."

"I didn't know about it," Adrien replied, narrowing his eyes. "Are you being honest with me?"

"You're one to talk about being honest."

"We _all _are," his son growled. He turned to Marinette again. "Why did talking about her medicine upset her? Is there something wrong with Nathalie?"

"If there's something wrong with Nathalie, then it's _my_ fault, and _I_ will deal with it," Gabriel asserted. Adrien gave him a bewildered stare, while Marinette turned her body away completely, facing the window and aiming her sullen blue gaze out into the dark city. Gabriel held the baby close and began making his way to the door. "The two of you, stay out of it. If there's a problem, tell me at once. Understood?"

"Understood, Father."

Gabriel returned to his own room, greeted by Nathalie who stretched out her arms to take Anaïs. She held the baby against her chest, smelling the top of her head, rubbing circles into her back, caressing the bottoms of her feet with the tip of her middle finger. Gabriel climbed into bed beside her and set his arms around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Nathalie whispered, eyes glittering with tears. "Oh, my Baby Girl. I'm never letting you go.

"_When we fall asleep  
_"_I'll hold you in my arms.  
_"_And though the shadows keep  
_"_My love, don't be alarmed.  
_"_Someday, we'll just pretend  
_"_Someday we'll dream again.  
_"_Someday we'll dream again_."

Anaïs's mouth stretched into yawn. She gently rose and fell to the rhythm of her mother's breath. Her eyelids drifted shut, and she slept.

Gabriel stared between his baby and his wife, his heart full of love and pain. Discreetly, he pinned the butterfly miraculous to his shirt. He took a moment to feel through Nathalie's potent agony, before letting the emotion quiet over time. She gave the baby's head numerous tender kisses, before she leaned against Gabriel's shoulder. They sat several hours in silence, stiffening at every sound. Gabriel was certain that what had happened earlier in the night would bring them strife soon enough. If Conspiracy knew their identities now, then it was only a matter of time before something else went horribly wrong. Gabriel only hoped that Nathalie didn't have those thoughts so fixedly on her mind as he did.

To his relief, he noticed that she finally drifted off around 4:30 AM, her expression worn and pale. Gabriel snuggled closer, and put his hand over Nathalie's, set softly on the baby's back.

At long last, he let himself cry, quietly so as not to rouse them.

_My girls, I'm sorry._

…

When the light of the rising sun first got tangled in the translucent white curtains, Gabriel was startled out of his doze by rushing footsteps. Beside him, Nathalie jolted upright, clutching Anaïs. She relaxed only when it was Adrien's voice that sounded out behind their bedroom door. "Father? Nathalie? It's me."

"What is it, Adrien?"

He opened the door. Ladybug stood behind him with her yo-yo in hand. "They're here," Chat Noir said, pulling out his baton. "They're outside. On the wall. Ladybug is going to lead them away while I bring you all somewhere safe."

"And we have a plan, but it's only if you want to go through with it," Ladybug timidly added, her eyes fixed on her partner, unwilling to give Nathalie and Gabriel a glance.

Nathalie was speechless. She had woken the baby with her sudden movement, and now Anaïs fidgeted madly, red in the face. But her mother could not comfort her while she stared blankly into nothing, her brow twitching, her lips forming a thin straight line.

Gabriel nodded at the heroes. "Well, what is your plan?"

"The two of us can handle Volpina, but the only way to take down Conspiracy is to find a way to prevent him from using his powers." Ladybug gestured, and Nooroo flew into the room to take a place above his master's shoulder. "An akuma would do nicely."

"But if that's not what you want to do, we can figure something else out," said Chat. Gabriel, however, could not tell if the pair's evident rigidity and dull, fearful eyes were signals of their guilt or of their uncertainty to work out an alternative plan.

Nonetheless, he didn't have time to ask them who they thought he'd possibly be able to akumatize. He turned to Nathalie at once. "I couldn't leave you and Anaïs alone. I'm going to stay with you."

She hesitated, still appearing too shaken to answer, but a moment passed and a dark, lethal expression fell slowly over her countenance. Every feature sharpened until her glare was cutting as a razorblade or a shard of glass. She shook her head, pushing his shoulder. "No."

"Nathalie-"

"You need to help, or this will only drag out longer." She started to climb out of bed. Gabriel followed her, accepting the baby so she could fish a spare pair of glasses out of her bedside drawer. "I can't stand the thought of them walking free out there for another moment."

"Nathalie, after what happened last night, are you sure you want to be by yourself?"

She slammed the drawer shut and leaned over the table, lips curling into a bitter smile. "No," she answered. "Not at all. But right now, with those two outside our house, it doesn't matter what makes me feel comfortable." She hissed through her teeth, "Do whatever you can to ensure that they're out of our lives as soon as possible. _Whatever_ you can."

"I don't want to leave you," he said feebly.

"Enough arguing, Gabriel. You have to help. You have to be a hero, just as you've been wanting all this time."

"I'm no hero if I can't be there for you," he replied.

She paused, her gaze turning on him. A soft, warm light glowed through the darkness on her face, illuminating the blue in her eyes like a clear sky over water. "My love," she murmured. "You're _always_ there for me. Always. But that isn't what makes you a hero. It's what makes you a good man." She took the baby back. "You need to do this. End this. For _her_."

Invigorated by her words, Gabriel acquiesced, as much as it pained him to do so. A pang in his chest punctuated his transformation phrase. He lit up under a stream of violet light, and stood in his bedroom, Hawkmoth once more.

After thanking him profusely for his decision, Ladybug took off from the house. Chat Noir watched from the window to ensure that Volpina and Conspiracy were hot on her trail.

"We're in the clear," he said, turning to the others. He grabbed his little sister and ordered Hawkmoth to carry Nathalie and follow him. "Let's get out of here."

It had been long since Hawkmoth had leaped from rooftop to rooftop with Nathalie curled up in his arms. Back then, it had been because she was too weak to keep up with him or too sick to stay conscious, but she still held him like she used to, with her hands clasped firmly around his neck and her head leaning against his own. He wondered if she was remembering too: the sweep of her dress around her legs, the flutter of her veil in the wind, splitting pain in her head Hawkmoth could read in the crookedness of her expression. He hoped memory would be easy on her.

Every few minutes, he blinked at his wife and whispered, "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said back each time, closing her eyes.

Her emotions, of course, said otherwise. Nathalie was afraid and angry, and those made for a great combination for him while he tried to think of someone he could akumatize. Unfortunately, there were too many reasons not to offer that power to Nathalie, the most obvious being that someone needed to stay behind and watch over the baby anyway. But he also worried being akumatized might harm her as much as using the miraculous itself.

Eventually, Hawkmoth started to recognize the path through which Chat Noir led them. He called out to his son, "Are we going to the old house?"

"Yeah, it was the only place I could think to take you that would be completely empty."

Nathalie blinked in surprise. "The old…"

They'd never sold the place. Every now and then Gabriel sent some housekeepers over to check on it, but otherwise, it was left almost exactly as it had been when they moved out. They hadn't wanted to sell it, not with its secret elevators and underground sanctuaries where Adrien's mother had been buried two years ago. Gabriel hadn't set foot in the house since, but Adrien had several times. to visit Emilie's grave. Hawkmoth didn't have the time to question his son's decision, but a vast part of him wanted to resist ever returning to that place.

They arrived by the time the city was immersed in gold morning light, illuminating the mansion's stone facade. Chat Noir unlocked the front door with the key he'd brought along and ushered Hawkmoth and Nathalie inside. After passing off the baby, he told them, "I'm going to go catch up with Ladybug. Meet up with us when you can, Father."

"I will," Hawkmoth said.

Before leaving, Chat Noir approached his step-mother and took her gingerly by the shoulder. "Nathalie," he said. She held his bright green gaze with a soft, uncertain stare of her own. "I'm sorry," he earnestly murmured.

She sighed. "I know, Adrien."

"I'll fix this," he promised. "We all will."

"I know."

"Can you forgive me?"

A hand cupped his cheek affectionately. There was a brightness in Nathalie's face, and for a moment, Hawkmoth was sure that she was about to pardon him, but then her features hardened. She looked at the hand she was using to touch his face, at the bandages wrapped around her fingers. She looked at the baby in her other arm. She pulled away. "I - I will," she answered. "I know I will. But not yet. Soon, but not yet."

Chat Noir stepped back, a sad, understanding smile on his face."I can live with that." He gave his Father the house key and exited through the front door, looking over his shoulder as he went. "I love you guys."

"We love you, Adrien," Nathalie returned.

Once he'd left, Hawkmoth encouraged Nathalie to hide in the lair, but she refused. Instead, She brought the baby upstairs to the bedroom they shared before the move. A thin layer of dust coated every surface, and Hawkmoth ran his hand across the empty dresser, stirring some of it into the air, dulling the texture of his gunmetal gloves. So many nights he'd spent alone in this room after his first wife fell away from him, until he finally found it within to begin again with the woman now taking a seat on the long-undisturbed bed. She faintly whispered to their child, who'd come to them so unexpectedly, who'd filled them with so much joy that it made them forget for a moment just how much it agonized them to wait for her. Hawkmoth's breath caught in his throat as Anaïs extended her hand towards her mother's solemn visage. To lose everything now was too painful a thought to ponder, but if his enemies knew his name, then that fear was treacherously close to reality. Hawkmoth felt weak. He leaned on the dresser for support.

"What are you going to do, Gabriel?" Nathalie asked him, not glancing up from her daughter.

"Marinette said I need to akumatize someone. I will have to find a willing person, and somebody to whom I can give a power that will be helpful to us," he answered.

"If the goal is to prevent Conspiracy from evading you, then I might have somebody in mind," she said. "And there might be a fair chance that her desire to be received as a hero by her peers could outweigh her better judgement."

"Chloe," Hawkmoth concluded. He scowled at himself. She'd been nearly as repetitive a victim as Lila thanks to her temperament and selfishness. She'd resisted his influence once before - the only individual to have ever done so, but Nathalie may have been right in suggesting that the opportunity to become a superhero once again could sway her to accept his offer, if he was smart about it. And she may not be able to resist if it was the bee miraculous's abilities with which he could akumatize her.

"She might be your best bet. Her paralyzing wasps would take care of Conspiracy."

"Yes. My only hope is that my reputation won't deter her, considering to do this correctly, she needs to make the choice completely on her own."

"If there is anyone likely to take advantage of this opportunity despite its perceived ramifications, it's Chloe."

"You're right." Hawkmoth's frown lifted as he gazed at his wife. "What would I do without you?"

She didn't answer, but she smiled. It relieved him to see.

"I wonder," he went on, "if the butterflies have continued to populate the underground sanctuary."

"Are you sure you'd want to go down there?" she asked softly.

"If I need an akuma, I don't have a choice." Hawkmoth released his hold on the dresser and crossed the room to the bedside. "Nathalie, will you be okay here alone?"

"I am not alone," she replied, bouncing the baby.

"I know, it still pains me to leave you."

"Gabriel." She rose to her feet and placed her bandaged hand above his heart. The tip of her ring finger brushed against his miraculous when his chest swelled with breath. "It'll be fine."

Hawkmoth stooped and kissed her. Nathalie melted against his lips, and along with her movement came this tug at his miraculous, like a plea to come closer, to stay. A phantom hand reaching out to pull him into her body, into her soul. Nathalie _wanted_ him there. He could taste the anguish of parting on her tongue, and he knew he would have to be the first to withdraw.

When he did, and he opened his eyes, he felt his heart unravel. Nathalie's blue gaze swam with tears. A pair of them rolled down her cheeks, and Hawkmoth caught them with his thumbs before they could slip free from her skin. She dropped her head and gave a shaking sigh. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be."

"Please, please don't let me stop you. I stand by everything I said. You need to go."

Arguing would be futile. The pain in her heart that begged him to remain fought viciously with her startling ire, a feeling like a firework exploding in a thousand directions, piercing him with heat and light. As much as she wished he would stay, she wanted her enemies reduced to dust in the wind, blown out from beneath their feet by the power of their wrath. Hawkmoth stroked his fingers down her face one last time before finally stepping away. He paused in the doorway, throwing a final soft glance at Nathalie, at Anaïs, who both looked after him.

"It's all for you," he said under his breath. He shut the door behind him.

Returning to the sanctuary was not as nerve-wracking as he anticipated. His old atelier was the most barren room in the house, and the only thing that remained was Emilie's tall portrait, still hung on that back wall. With the curtains drawn and the lights turned off, it didn't look nearly as impressive as he remembered it to be. Barely sparing more a few seconds to gaze at its golden brushstrokes, Hawkmoth pressed his fingers into the hidden buttons and let the floor open up beneath him.

The underground remained in darkness. As he drew nearer to the end of the room, the lights that had once switched on with his movement did not respond. Pale light flushed in from above, keeping the space just luminescent enough for him to see his surroundings. Hawkmoth marveled at the numerous butterflies that had made a home of the garden, their delicate frosted wings drifting lightly as feathers under the dim light. A group of them fluttered above his head as he traversed the iron bridge, each footstep making the grates vibrate with a low metallic rustle.

Emilie's grave was marked by a stone Adrien had picked up from the back garden. Hawkmoth's heart ached that she could not be given a more proper burial, but the sanctuary had been her place of rest for two long and arduous years before they had finally put her life to a peaceful end. That it should be her permanent home seemed fitting, surrounded by the creatures he had used to try to bring her back. They would watch over her, as bright and as pure as she'd always wanted to be remembered.

Hawkmoth outstretched his hand, and one of the butterflies fluttered into his palm. He inhaled sharply as it flickered its pearly wings at him, as if offering a shy greeting. Hawkmoth closed his hand over it. He went rigid as the miraculous's dark energy - though, he assumed it wasn't really dark - collapsed into the creature and blackened its wings.

He extended out his senses, rushing past the familiar emotions of his own family to the great expanse of the city waking up to another attack. There were bursts of fear and exasperation, the worst cases of which screamed out louder to him than anything else, but Hawkmoth attempted to narrow his scope. Le Grand Paris was close, and if Chloe Bourgeois hadn't changed too drastically over the past couple years, then the resurgence of miraculous magic in the city surely would have awoken her taste for adoration through heroism.

_Nooroo, please_, he thought. _Help me out_.

He spent so long waiting for the right emotion to strike him that he became doubtful it would ever arise. His focus faltered as thoughts of Nathalie and Anaïs bloomed through his head, followed by those of Adrien, whether he had ever caught up with Ladybug and the rest of the fight. But at last, Hawkmoth fortified his mind. He closed his eyes and searched for Chloe in the darkness, for that determination, for that lively and colorful ambition. He rejected the negative emotions pelting his consciousness, until at last, he caught on to something. Just the corner of it, feeling flimsy and paper-thin, but bolstering the more he held on to it.

It felt old. It felt rough. Like it had been removed from the earth. To be dusted off with ambivalent hands. A hope and dream he had the power to restore, good as new.

Chloe.

He could tell by the cloud that formed in his head that she had just risen from sleep, perhaps called awake by the news of an attack. Her desire was weaker now than it used to be, but as long as Hawkmoth could latch on to the semblance of some bold emotion, he could direct his akuma towards it. He released the creature from his palm, sending it forth up the elevator shaft. He granted the room one final long stare before following it. Hawkmoth waited in the empty atelier for the akuma to reach its target, nervously swinging his cane around and around.

Until at last, something shifted in the air.

Drowning out all distant noise until it seemed he had gone deaf, or had been launched into soundless out space.

That glowing purple visor flickered into place. Suddenly, he could see out of her eyes, though the edges of that vision melted into his own, and certain details were lost, fading in and out of focus, for Hawkmoth could not forcibly secure the link this time.

"Hello?" he heard her ask.

Hawkmoth swallowed. The drumming of his heart was all he could hear beyond the echo of her trembling greeting.

"Chloe Bourgeois," he addressed.

She was silent for a moment. Then, her voice shivered through his head, a fearful and disbelieving, "Hawkmoth?"

"Yes, this is Hawkmoth, but not the Hawkmoth you once knew," he said. "Ladybug and Chat Noir need your help."

Once more, she hesitated. "What?"

It took all his restraint not to lock Chloe into the connection. If she chose to break it off on her own, she could do so in a second. Hawkmoth took a deep breath and tightened his grip around his cane, driving the end of it into the floor. Perhaps, necessity justified force, but somewhere in the back of his head was a plea to leave her without chains - Nooroo, he guessed. "Ladybug and Chat Noir need your help, Chloe Bourgeois. Volpina and Conspiracy have attacked once more, and our heroes are desperate for an ally. You are the perfect fit for the job."

He could sense her doubt in the instability of the connection. He struggled to keep his end of it tight and clear. Chloe's murmur was hardly audible. "I am?"

"We need Queen Wasp," he told her.

"Queen Wasp? What about Queen Bee?"

He shook his head. Chloe was the same as ever. "Ladybug can't give you the bee miraculous right now, but I can give you it's power, and a stronger version of it too. I know you will find it difficult to trust me after everything I have done, but I promise, I strive to be on the right side of this fight," said Hawkmoth. When she did not respond, he went on, "You will find that I am not forcing you under my control. Your decision to accept the akuma is entirely yours. I will not make you. I only hope you will choose to help us." To appeal to her impressive ego, Hawkmoth added, "You are the only one who can."

This seemed to please her. Hawkmoth felt the connection strengthen and grow taut. "Oh, am I?"

"The one and only, my dear Miss Bourgeois."

"If you make one wrong move, butterfly man," she asserted, "you'll regret it."

"I hope you're not counting on that," he said back with a touch of humor.

Chloe Bourgeois accepted the akuma.

Hawkmoth leaned on his cane, nearly thrown off his feet by amazement. For the first time in twenty-two months he had akumatized someone, but for the first time _ever_, he had akumatized someone the right way. Had he any time to spare, he might have stood there longer to wonder how the world would react, but the question was a mere whisper in his head now, silenced by the sense of urgency pressing him to leave.

"Queen Wasp," said Hawkmoth, throwing open the door to the atelier, "Go find Ladybug and Chat Noir. The plan is to paralyze Conspiracy."

"Yes, Hawkmoth!"

"His miraculous is on his wrist. Beware, he's difficult to keep up with."

"I won't let Ladybug and Chat Noir down."

He withdrew from the connection. Hawkmoth locked the front door behind him and launched down the steps into the front courtyard. He braced to leap over the secured gate, but came to a sudden halt when the iron bars wavered and expanded in length. They shot up towards the sky, breaking through the stone archway above them and stretching like two dozen of Chat Noir's magic batons. Hawkmoth stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the bizarre sight.

"No…" he said aloud, scanning his surroundings. _No_.

They'd been found. _Again_.

"Good morning, Mr. Agreste."

Appearing on the wall, twirling her flute in her right hand while she tossed her hair with her left was Volpina. She eyed her illusion, craning her neck to admire the impressive height she caused the gate to reach, before she returned her glare to Hawkmoth standing stiff in the courtyard, her olive eyes piercing through the shadow draped over her facade. Hawkmoth's miraculous bit into his chest, her contempt stinging like alcohol on an open wound.

"Miss Rossi," he growled. Hawkmoth masked his terror with rage. Volpina had followed him to the mansion, followed his wife, his baby. Fingers that began to shake were steadied as he closed his grasp more strongly over the hilt of his sheathed rapier.

She walked along the wall, drawing closer to him and the elongated bars. "I would have expected that super villains who'd disappeared so seamlessly from the public eye once before would be a lot more cautious than this." She flicked her eyes towards the mansion, jaw hardening. "So predictable and sad of Ladybug to assume the Volpina and Conspiracy she saw outside your house this morning were the real deal."

Panic chilled his skin. Hawkmoth looked over his shoulder at the house with half the mind to ignore Volpina entirely and tear back inside.

"Relax," she hissed, reading his mind. "Conspiracy isn't here right now."

"_Where_ is he?" demanded Hawkmoth.

"Cutting to the chase, are we? Well, it's been so long since we've talked. I thought you'd want to catch up a little."

"I have no interest in a foolish child messing with something she doesn't understand," he returned. "I'll ask again, and you will answer. Where. Is. Conspiracy?"

"Ah, you're angry at him. I understand. What he did last night is, well, it's drastic isn't it? Aw, you're seething," she sneered. "It's almost like you never stopped being a super villain. With all that rage built up inside you, it's hard to imagine anyone will take you seriously as a hero." Before he could demand an answer for a third time, she set a hand on her hip and smiled. "I sent Conspiracy to take care of Ladybug and Chat Noir - they don't stand a chance. As much as I've been dying to take Ladybug down myself, I suppose there will be plenty of time to do that once he takes care of the earrings. She'll be all mine then. But you? I want you, all of you, to myself."

"Forget it. You're not a concern of mine," he said.

"Oh, I suppose you don't get it then? Conspiracy was never gonna hurt your little baby. Or your wife, though I've always found her insufferable. He would have never shown up there if _I_ hadn't needed a favor from him," Volpina revealed, eyes sparkling.

_She hates you more than she hates Ladybug_, Conspiracy's low voice resounded through his mind. _Don't think I'm not doing you a favor by not keeping her as far away from you as I can. _

Lightning crackled through Hawkmoth's blood. As he glared at Volpina on the wall, all he could see was his wife's wounded hand, his daughter's distressed pink face, feel the skip of his heartbeat as if his chest could fall open and spill onto the floor in his terror. Hawkmoth would have wobbled if he didn't have his cane to steady him, the same cane Nathalie held in her grip six hours ago, with the power of an ancient artifact that had come so close to killing her once.

Volpina didn't wait to hear what he would think to say to her next. She very suddenly dove off the other end of the wall, waving her flute through the air. Her illusion was dispelled, and the gate returned to normal. Through the bars, Hawkmoth watched her rush away from the mansion, evidently in an effort to make him follow her.

But he was torn. Hawkmoth hesitated in the courtyard, unsure whether to take off after her or return to his wife's side, to ensure it wasn't some twisted lie that Conspiracy was truly elsewhere, but a moment later, Queen Wasp put some of his worries at ease. Her consciousness intersected with his own, and she alerted him that she had spotted Conspiracy in a chase with Ladybug and Chat Noir. It was all he needed to compel him to clear the wall and take off after Volpina.

Of course, he realized. Lila only lies to make herself look _good_.

Hawkmoth was much faster, but his moment of indecision had given the illusionist the opportunity to use her power once more. She had created a duplicate, and Hawkmoth found himself in chase with two indistinguishable Volpinas that eventually peeled off in different directions before he could reach either of them. Hawkmoth snatched an empty plastic bottle off the curb and hurled it at one of them, hoping it would strike her and reveal either its corporeality or its falseness, but the Volpina ducked away from it and disappeared around a corner.

"Shit," he growled. So as to waste no more time on doubt, he followed the one he'd missed with the bottle, hoping that if Volpina was truly concerned with him, he'd face the real one eventually.

As he closed in, she bounded up a fire escape and leaped evasively across the street, back and forth from ledge to ledge. Hawkmoth kept his path straight, managing to keep up with her winding movement until he very nearly closed his hand around her arm. She ducked away last minute and leaped down straight down into an alleyway. Hawkmoth, wary of what had happened last time he found himself in that kind of confined space, rushed to the opposite side of the rooftop to meet her on the other end. But he came to a stop right at the edge.

Below him, gathered in the street, were dozens of Volpinas, almost as many as he had seen two attacks since. A glance over his shoulder revealed another ten or so approaching him. Hawkmoth gritted his teeth and jumped from the rooftop, landing amongst the horde. He swept his gaze about the crowd, searching if any of the Volpinas looked different from the rest, looked more human.

"Good morning, Mr. Agreste," they all said at once, their voices melting together into this grating, hair-raising drawl. Hawkmoth lunged forward, thrusting his cane through the sternum of one of the illusions, causing it to burst like a balloon.

"Nice hit," said an illusion behind him. He whirled around and charged it, inducing the same exact fate as the first. He would have been content to destroy all of them one by one, if they all didn't share the same sly, mocking grin and slanted green eyes, beaming like emeralds under the broad morning light. This would take forever, and he wanted the real Volpina _now_.

He struck two at a time, then kicked another into the illusion behind it. It felt that he was hardly making a dent in the crowd. His head was spinning. The back of his skull throbbed, the pain of his head injury returning with the exertion. Hawkmoth growled out a deep exhale, eyes darting between the duplicates.

He was interrupted again. "Hawkmoth," said Queen Wasp, and blanketing the sound of her apprehensive tone in his head was the hum of numerous wasps. This visor flickered over his eyes, but he tried to weaken the connection in order to keep his vision clear. "I'm keeping up with them for now, but there's a problem. We have company."

He couldn't care. He broke the link between them and it snapped like a wire. The purple light around him flickered out like an electrical light sparking and exploding into darkness.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Agreste?" The crowd of Volpina asked all at once. Hawkmoth glanced down at his cane, it's translucent violet hilt glinting like dark amethyst, like a glimmer in someone's eye.

Just then, he unsheathed his rapier, tossing the sheath aside completely. None of the Volpinas reacted swiftly enough to the sudden movement but one, whose face paled at the sight of the blade catching early morning sunlight on its yet-unbloodied edge. Hawkmoth locked his eyes on her and advanced. The other Volpinas closed in on him, but he ignored all of them. He knew the real one now, and she held up her hands as if in submission, but even as her fear rippled under his skin, he could feel her scorn streaming in his veins like liquid fire, a fire that could burst free at any moment. This wasn't quite the end, not if she could help it.

He shoved aside Volpinas that had gotten too close, each of them vaporizing beneath his hand. His voice trembled like it was ready to burst. "What's wrong with you?"

She held his stare, maintaining the distance between them as she stepped backwards.

"What kind of person threatens a newborn baby? _She's six weeks old!_" he roared.

Volpina flinched, but she made her retort anyway, her pride clearly too large and sharp to swallow. "Don't be overdramatic. I wasn't going to let Conspiracy hurt her."

"What is a man like Conspiracy doing, performing favors for you? You're sick."

"And you're doomed. Wave that sword around all you want, _Gabriel_." The sound of his name on her lips made him shudder. Her voice repulsed him. "I know what I know. I'll tell everyone the truth. You're lucky I haven't already."

"Silence!"

"No, truly, you're incredibly fortunate. Ladybug doesn't have your same luxury. I don't know who she is, and so she doesn't have the opportunity that you do. The opportunity to give me what I want."

He could have laughed. "And what would that be?"

"What else?" she scoffed, sticking a pointer finger out towards his chest. "Your miraculous."

This time he did chuckle, a dark, humorless sound that wounded her, judging by the way her wry expression collapsed.

"Is this a joke to you? I could ruin everything for you with a few words, and you have the nerve to laugh?" she hissed.

Hawkmoth broke off his laughter with a shout, slashing his rapier through the bodies of three Volpinas, who vanished into thin clouds and then nothing. "I see," he snarled, glowering back at the illusionist, who had been shaken once more by his lash of fury. "You still think this is a game. You still think that you can hurt people to get what you want, that any harm you inflict will be worth it. Take it from me, no personal gain justifies monstrosity. I've no interest in your ultimatum. And I," he spat, "am ashamed to have ever been like you."

"Do you think that matters to me?" To his surprise, Volpina swung her flute against his rapier. She rose as high as she could on her toes, her visage contorted with rage. "I know I'm better than you! I know I'm stronger! I know I'm not pathetic enough to let go of the things I've worked for." She clashed against him again, screaming, "And I didn't let go! _You_ took them from me!"

Hawkmoth broke away, causing Volpina to stumble forward into one of her duplicates, who evaporated. Regaining her balance, she spun around on her feet, eyes wild. "You did! You took them! I had this city grinding to dust beneath my heel before you ruined me. You -" She cried out, and lunged again, "-abandoned me!"

He caught her wrist. Volpina gave a panicked screech, dispelled the rest of her duplicates in a second and created another, one of a flashing light, far too intangible an illusion for Hawkmoth to resist. With him stunned, Volpina pulled herself free and dealt a blow to the back of his head with his flute. Pain exploded through his skull. It was where he had been injured the day before, and even as his vision cleared of the illusion, he could still see stars in his periphery. His balance failed him. Hawkmoth dropped to his hands and knees, the rapier clattering out of his grip.

"I'll never have my rewards with strings attached again," he heard her say through a huff of anger. "I will never let anyone use and dispose of me. You promised me Adrien and you lied. You promised me vengeance against Ladybug and you _lied_. To find out it was the same disgusting old man who took advantage of my gifts, you have no idea how much it hurt. I swore you would regret tossing me aside. If you really don't care about me taking your miraculous, then fine!" Hawkmoth's chin was lifted by the tip of her flute, and he could just see the white-hot enmity blazing in her gaze. "You took what matters most to me, after all, so it's only fitting that I will take the same from you."

Hawkmoth's heart pounded in his ears.

"This time," she jeered, "your wife won't be able to use your miraculous to help-"

Hawkmoth grabbed Volpina by the shoulders, shocking her into silence as he sprang to his feet and lifted her off the ground. His tone was murderous as he stuck his face into hers and snapped -

"She'd kill you before I could."

He threw Volpina down at his feet, and she blinked up at him in shock. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," he added.

Right as he lurched to tear the pendant from around her neck, Volpina surprised him. She surged to the side to close her fist around the hilt of the fallen rapier and barely missed Hawkmoth's shoulder as she whirled it towards him.

"Are you crazy?" he yelped.

Volpina leaped up from the ground and charged him, a cry of outrage splitting through the air as she swung the blade again.

Hawkmoth was going to dodge her. It would have been easy. Unbelievably easy. He may have even been able to catch her wrist and wrench the hilt of the sword from the fingers. But something happened. Something stopped him _completely_. Hawkmoth felt everything from his toes to his finger-tips to his facial muscles go completely rigid as it felt like he was seized from behind. A bright yellow energy surrounded him, engulfing everything he saw in neon light for just a few moments. Volpina dropped the rapier, her gaze stretching wide at the sight, but Hawkmoth realized that it wasn't him she was looking at any longer, but whatever was behind him.

The clicks of slow footsteps sounded out. A chill crept up his spine that he couldn't shake out of his body. They approached.

Then, the light cleared. Volpina started to step further and further away, grabbing her flute instead. Hawkmoth commanded himself to move, but he was utterly paralyzed. He couldn't turn his head. He couldn't turn his _eyes._

From behind him stepped a familiar figure. A dark violet cloak dragged on the asphalt behind them as they approached Volpina. An empty bottle dropped from their hand onto the street, clearly all that remained of the potion they had just used. A gloved hand caught Volpina by the elbow.

"Bold," the Sorcerer said. "Very, very bold, Rossi."

"Please…" Volpina rasped, white with dread.

Their grip tightened, twisting Volpina's arm until she yelped in pain. "Why am I not surprised?" they asked.

"Listen, listen to me," Volpina urged them, though they didn't seem particularly interested in that. "I didn't do this to piss you off, I swear! I did this to help you, to get his miraculous!"

The brooch was pinned to his broadly expanded chest, vulnerable to be taken at once. But neither foe moved toward him.

"His miraculous?" the Sorcerer repeated. "I guess it truly means nothing to you that his miraculous would be practically useless to me? And it means nothing to you that I demanded you stay out of my way? If those things are of no consequence in your eyes, then why should I believe that anything you do with that fucking fox miraculous is to help me at all?"

Hawkmoth would have stretched his eyes wide had he the ability. This Sorcerer, for all their dangerous ability, had been mostly overlooked. He hadn't expected they had anything to do with last night's incident, but as Volpina squirmed, he realized their exclusion hadn't been for the reason he assumed.

Volpina struggled. "Had I not done this, I wouldn't have the pleasure of telling you I was right! I was right about his identity, about his family, about everything! If you're mad at me, fine, but you have to admit that what I've learned is going to benefit us in the long run, right?"

"The only thing benefitting me in the long run is realizing I wasted my energy on you," replied the Sorcerer. They glanced back, and had Hawkmoth the ability, he would have scowled into that masked face. He'd been that person once, the one who took that destructive little vixen under his wing for his own gain, but he had no sympathy for the Sorcerer realizing they had kept her around too long. Not after what she had done to his family. They stared at him from behind the silver mask. If Hawkmoth could move, maybe he could end this. Maybe he could rip that mask off.

He was so frozen that he could not even feel the miraculous pulsing against him.

"I had to waste a perfectly good bee potion on him. And on his akuma too. You're lucky those are easy and quiet to make," the Sorcerer rumbled after a long pause. They let go of Volpina, who pulled back her arm, cupping her elbow protectively. "Don't follow me. And don't go back to the hideout either. If I see you there, you're dead."

Volpina's face twitched as she watched the Sorcerer walk away. "Whatever! You don't need me helping you, I won't help you! But you're not going to keep me from my revenge," she yelled.

"I can and I will," they said, turning around. They pulled out another bottle from the belt, this one filled with a murky brown liquid, Hawkmoth guessed the horse potion. "You haven't earned it."

"But _they_ have." Volpina glared at Hawkmoth. "And they'll get what's coming to them."

The Sorcerer, who was about to throw the bottle down on the ground, hesitated.

"Oh, please, don't spare me. Walk away, see if I care," she went on. Hawkmoth could not look directly at Volpina, but he could hear the tears in her voice. "_You_ were the one who called revenge a duty. _You_ were the one who called it justice. So, if you think you can hinder me, think again. You'd be cruel to try, crueler than he is! You don't even care about them, so if I dragged his paralyzed body back to the house and made him watch, you'd be powerless to stop me!"

Magically enhanced as she was with the fox miraculous, Volpina was not prepared to be slapped so violently across the face that she flew into the earth, her flute soaring out of her hand and rolling into Hawkmoth's paralyzed feet. She laid sprawled on the ground for several utterly silent seconds. Her arms trembled to hold her head above the ground. Her dark hair spilled forward, hiding an expression Hawkmoth could not even begin to imagine.

The Sorcerer huffed indignantly while they balled the offending hand into a tight fist. A shiver of rage shot through their form as they studied Volpina lying crumpled on the ground. It wasn't until they began to step towards the fallen girl that the latter moved, attempting to crawl away, but moving far too slow to make it more than a foot before the Sorcerer stooped to grab her by the forearm and pull her back up to her feet. Volpina's olive green eyes were red and swollen. Her legs trembled, clearly doing very little of the work to hold her upright. It was the Sorcerer's strength that prevented Volpina from collapsing again.

"You insolent rat," they snarled. "Don't give me that look. You're one wrong move away from _a lot worse_."

Volpina opened her mouth, but only a strangled cry escaped. The Sorcerer turned their masked face towards the hero they had paralzed, as if just remembering he was alert enough to witness what was happening.

"I don't have time for you," they mumbled to Volpina. They released her, and the girl fell in a heap on the ground, sobbing. Hawkmoth felt no sympathy for her whatsoever, not even as blood trickled from her nose and dripped onto the white front of her costume.

The Sorcerer smashed the brown bottle on the ground and vanished in another, all too familiar sphere of light.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Ladybug wiped the sweat from her brow once Conspiracy vanished for the dozenth time. A swing of her yo-yo launched her from the top of a chimney to an ungraceful landing on the sidewalk across the street, during which she slid forward and fell against the wall of a small boutique, panting for breath. She'd known from the beginning that chasing down Conspiracy was going to be a fruitless task. He was impossibly quick.

Chat Noir was not far off. The morning, though still early, was stiflingly humid, and sweat clung to the messy blonde locks hanging over his face. Beneath his mask, his skin was flushed red, but Ladybug could see the energetic glint in his green eyes, flashing at her as he caught her gaze. Ladybug turned around and pressed her back against the wall.

"Chat," she huffed, "I don't think this is working."

"Clearly," he replied, striking his baton against the ground. "Where'd he go this time? And _where_ is Queen Wasp? Didn't you see her?"

"She was following us just a few minutes ago. I don't know what happened. She must have lost track."

"Maybe she's with Father."

Ladybug slid down the wall, the yo-yo dropping from her grip. As she watched it spin across the sidewalk with a rough scrape, Chat Noir padded to her side and knelt down. His hand on her shoulder was an immense comfort, and she practically melted under his touch, her head falling to the side to rest on his chest.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and by the tone of his voice, she could tell that he feared she was hurt.

"I'm fine, I just -" Ladybug shook her head. A glance up at the sky revealed no more than a thin blue-gray sheet of clouds looming above the rooftops of Paris. No shadow like a mark on the daylight, no bird tearing so unnaturally through the air. "This is all my fault," she finished, as she pulled her bangs off her forehead.

Chat Noir squeezed her shoulder. "No, it isn't. You're not responsible for anything Conspiracy and Volpina choose to do."

"I knew something bad was going to happen. He found me two nights ago. I thought I could protect myself and your family by being there but I was totally useless. It was dumb. He can turn invisible. Why did I think I'd be able to stop him let alone see him?" Ladybug buried her face in her hands, only to remove them a moment later, beads of sweat flying off her fingers.

"Marinette, you being able to stop Conspiracy last night would not have changed the fact that he showed up to begin with. He already knew about my father's identity. Either Lila told him her suspicions, or he's where she got them from but," he coaxed her back to her feet, taking both of her petite hands in his sleek black gloves, "either way, they knew. And you can't blame yourself for that. You're doing what you've always done. You're trying your best, and the road has been bumpy so far, but we're going to overcome this."

Chat Noir's encouragement had been a lifesaver from the very beginning. After nearly four years of partnership, his reassuring words never failed to bring a light smile to Ladybug's lips. She gazed at him softly, brushing her thumbs across his knuckles. "Thank you, Kitty," she told him. A heavy uneasiness still clawed at her from the inside. "You know I want to believe you, but I don't know how we're going to manage. Conspiracy has never landed a blow on us, but until we can actually touch him, we're just going to wear ourselves out. This will just keep going. And I'm going to keep digging a deeper and deeper hole for myself."

"It'll be alright. Things have been tense, I know, but they'll calm down once this is past us." Chat's expression hardened. "They have to."

Ladybug bent forward and picked her yo-yo off the ground. She knew how anxious Adrien felt for his family, for Nathalie who had been gravely hurt by their rash choices. And Gabriel, he said, was suffering in silence, blaming himself for everything that was going wrong. In addition to both of those things, however, Ladybug knew Adrien was mourning the peace he'd enjoyed with his family for so long. After years of grief and discord, he'd grown to deeply cherish the "normal family" his household had become, like a garden finally flowering. But now he was beginning to realize that there were some habits, some feelings that they had yet to grow past, some weeds they had yet to uproot.

Chat Noir turned away, pointing his sharp gaze skyward. "We should probably go find him again."

"Maybe we should look for Queen Wasp and your Father first. We've been getting nowhere."

"Or, we can try a lucky charm. There's got to be an object that can help us stop him, or slow him down at least."

Ladybug dipped her head. She stepped back and tossed her yo-yo into the air, calling "Lucky Charm!"

The object materialized and dropped towards them.

"Oh shit-!"

Ladybug pulled her fists into her chest and nearly knocked Chat Noir over trying to sidestep the Lucky Charm. A knife clattered on the sidewalk where she had been standing, it's red and black spotted blade catching the sunlight across its metallic surface. Ladybug retrieved it, observing its shape.

"It's a tactical knife," she told Chat Noir, "Which means it's not meant to be used as a weapon. I could have assumed that much. I've never gotten a Lucky Charm intended to outright hurt someone."

"How is a little tactical knife going to stop Conspiracy?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll come across a rope we can cut? Whatever the case is," she folded the blade into the hilt, "it's all we have for now. Do you think you could call your father?"

Chat Noir tried, but though he dialed Hawkmoth on his communication device twice, his father didn't answer either time. Chat's lips formed a thin line across his face as he narrowed his eyes down at his baton.

To quell his worries, Ladybug set a hand on his shoulder. "We haven't encountered Volpina yet, not the real one anyway. He's probably just caught up with her."

"I hope you're right."

"Let's go."

Ladybug and Chat Noir swung back up to the rooftops of Paris. Every direction Ladybug looked, she expected to see Conspiracy soaring past, a streak of blackness against the morning. They paused to look down every road, peer into every alley, search around chimneys and terraces for any sign of the raven miraculous holder. The chase had moved this way all morning. He'd vanish and reappear only several meters away most of the time, but there had been multiple instances now of Conspiracy disappearing completely from the area, leaving the heroes to track him down a number of blocks away. Ladybug was half-certain he was distracting them, but the other half of her was all too wary of what he could do to get their attention if they quit pursuing him.

_I haven't been able to touch him once_. Ladybug was shocked at how adept Conspiracy was at using his miraculous. He was so slick, so fast and reflexive, that it seemed to her he had been a holder for a long, long time. Longer than she had. It was a frightening thought. Even Hawkmoth had only been using the butterfly miraculous as long as she had, and their fight had dragged on for years. Ladybug wanted this conflict with Conspiracy to end as soon as possible, but she couldn't be confident that she would be the one making it out of the other side.

He was too good, too _trained_. Ladybug's heart sank deeper and deeper into her stomach every time she remembered what Nathalie had suggested the night before. _The only other person who knows your identity outside of us is the previous guardian. _

_Master Fu. _

Ladybug could believe that Conspiracy and the Sorcerer had come from the temple - in fact, she was nearly convinced of it, but to think that Master Fu had been the one to expose her identity? To give the necessary information for these new villains to track her down? And not _warn_ her? Ladybug didn't care if he had a choice or not, she simply could not fathom that Fu was the one responsible for this. She'd sooner tell herself Conspiracy made a lucky guess. That was a more confusing yet simultaneously more desirable explanation than Nathalie's. But Ladybug was only letting herself believe such a foolish notion because it was the only way to keep from losing her grip.

Last night, when they were alone in Adrien's room, he'd slipped his hand softly around her neck, the warmth of his touch sinking under her skin. "Bugaboo," he had pressed, "I know we don't want to think about this, but what if Nathalie is right? What if Fu did have something to do with this?"

She'd leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him and pushing him gently down into his pillows. Marinette laid there with her head on his chest as she whispered, "It won't matter. If Lila or Conspiracy come here tonight, we will be ready for them, and that will be the end of it."

Adrien hadn't responded then, but she could guess what was on his mind. This was a mistake. Marinette's vow of victory was her way of avoiding a painful potential truth. They'd been concerned enough for Nathalie to stand firm on the short-sighted plan, but they acted on foolishness too, and Marinette's was a result of denial.

Having traversed several blocks, Ladybug and Chat Noir came to a halt above a quiet street. Chat Noir ran his fingers through his damp hair as he studied their surroundings. "We've been here."

"I know. I feel like he's been going in circles."

"Seriously, does he want the miraculous or not?"

Ladybug briefly surveyed the area while she ran her thumb up and down the handle of her tactile knife, but she still saw no clear way to use it. Even more frustrating, there was still no darting shadow, no pair of grand black wings slicing through the air. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the tables had turned and he was now giving chase to them. But she remembered how it felt to be watched, a faint, needle-like pressure on the back of her neck or the crest of her cheekbone, and that eerie sense did not disturb her now.

"M'lady," Chat Noir murmured, his fingertips brushing her elbow. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

She clamped her mouth shut. There was a low hum in the distance, a low hum, that upon further listening, sounded like the lazy drone of several flying insects. Ladybug and Chat Noir crossed to the other end of the rooftop they had paused on, and standing in the middle of the road below them was a familiar girl with yellow skin and sleek black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Several dozen wasps buzzed around her head, and twice as many lay scattered around her feet. She didn't even flinch when they shouted her name in unison: "Queen Wasp!"

"Ladybug? Chat Noir?" Queen Wasp didn't move. In fact, she seemed to Ladybug to be standing unnaturally still. Her knees were slightly bent, her arms held several centimeters out from her side with her fists curled shut, and her chin was titled towards her throat. "Oh, thank the stars! Don't just stand there, get over here! My wasps won't hurt you."

They listened, dropping from the building down into the street. Ladybug stared at the asphalt. A wasp by her foot was twitching, half-alive as though it had been stepped on.

"Chloe," Chat Noir said, "What's going on? Can you move?"

"It's Queen Wasp. And no."

"Did you get stung by one of your own…?"

"Hardly. They'd never betray their Queen," scoffed the akumatized girl. "Well, I was just chasing after that Conspiracy guy like you two were until I felt myself become totally paralyzed. Wasn't as painful as I imagined."

Ladybug stepped around to look Queen Wasp in the face. Her magenta glare was flitting around until it came to a rest as Ladybug stopped directly in front of her. With her head fixed downward, she could only lift her gaze as high as Ladybug's neck. The spotted heroine cautiously placed her fingers under Queen Wasp's chin and attempted to raise her head. It moved with effort, but Queen Wasp's twitching brow indicated the shift was uncomfortable, so Ladybug took her hand away. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know exactly. I thought I heard someone behind me. When I turn around, I see this freaky guy in a robe running up."

"A robe?" asked Chat Noir, swatting at a wasp buzzing around his ears.

"The Sorcerer," Ladybug growled. "They're here too."

"Oh, great," huffed Chat Noir.

"A sorcerer? Well, isn't that fabulous," muttered Queen Wasp. "Well, I was able to keep away from him for a while. I actually think I lost them, but then I hear this sound, and before I know it, I can't move. I can't even speak. The sorcerer-robe guy runs past. I have no idea where they went. In any case, I don't think his paralyzing power is as good as mine. It's wearing off. I think I can…" Her tight fists began to soften. A look of concentration hardened her visage as she just barely managed to shift her pinkie finger back and forth.

"How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know, fifteen, twenty minutes? Maybe a half hour? It's humid. I feel disgusting."

"Well, we're glad you're not hurt," Chat Noir told her.

"That's sweet of you, cat boy. Oh, I should probably mention that I can't get into contact with Hawkmoth - and just to make sure, you _are_ working with him right? This isn't some elaborate trick?"

"No, he's on our side," answered Ladybug.

"You can't contact him?" asked Chat Noir, stepping closer to Queen Wasp, who cast her glance aside to watch him approach.

"I tried to when I noticed I was being followed, but he rudely cut the connection."

"Do you think the Sorcerer got to him too?" Chat Noir asked Ladybug, taking her by the arm.

"Either them or Lila."

"Anyway," Queen Wasp interrupted, a little too loudly for it to be thoughtless, "considering we have time as long as I have to wait for this weird spell or whatever to wear off, do you think the two of you can explain to me how exactly you got Hawkmoth of all people on your side?"

Ladybug exchanged glances with Chat Noir. His eyes beamed with panic for a moment before he turned back to Queen Wasp. "It's a long story. And we still have to find Conspiracy. For now, let's just say he's realized the error of his ways and wants to prove himself capable of using his miraculous for good."

"Wow, that's adorable," grumbled Queen Wasp with an eye roll that could have been large enough to topple her paralyzed body onto the ground. "Considering you guys were, like, mortal enemies I would have expected a lot more push and shove."

Chat Noir wrinkled his nose. "_Mortal_ enemies is a little stro-"

Deciding not to continue the exchange, Ladybug held up the knife in the palm of her hand. The akumatized girl managed to recoil her neck by a nudge in response to the sudden movement. "Chloe, you wouldn't -"

"Queen Wasp."

"You wouldn't know how I can put this to use, would you?"

"Uh, it's a knife? Stab the bitch, Ladybug, when you find him. But -"

"Thanks for the advice." Ladybug grabbed Chat Noir's hand and started retreating down the street.

"Wait, hey!" Queen Wasp called.

"Come find us once the potion has worn off, okay? We'll need you to stop Conspiracy."

They rushed back up towards the sky. Ladybug snuffed her guilt for leaving Queen Wasp behind. The magic would fade soon enough and she would be able to join them subsequently, but even more interesting was that the Sorcerer hadn't freed Queen Wasp's akuma. They didn't think or didn't care to leave Choe helpless, even when nothing could have stopped them. Ladybug justified her quick departure by telling herself, quite convincingly, that Queen Wasp was safe, the situation was urgent, and they would need more time to explain Hawkmoth's alliance with care.

At her side, her partner was a lot less calm. Chat Noir's stony expression collapsed into one of fear when his third attempt to call Hawkmoth wasn't answered. After launching himself from one rooftop to the next over a narrow alleyway, Chat Noir stopped and looked at Ladybug imploringly.

"Adrien, I know you're worried, but he's probably fine."

"_Probably._ And if the Sorcerer has gotten to him too?"

"Then the potion will wear off, just like it's already doing for Queen Wasp."

"They'll take his miraculous. They have all the others, don't they?" Chat Noir looked up from his communication device, sweeping his gaze across their surroundings. "And with Volpina out there too, he can't be in a good position. Marinette, you should continue looking for Conspiracy. I'll go find my father."

Ladybug jolted in surprise. "Whoa, hold on. It's not a good idea for us to split up, Chat Noir," she said, sinking her fingertips into his shoulders.

"Then we should both go to make sure he's okay. If we catch Conspiracy on the way, great."

She didn't have the chance to argue with him. Chat Noir took off again, heading west, in the direction of his old house. Not wanting to wind up alone, Ladybug followed.

The sun beat down through the humid air. Ladybug's movements were slower and clumsier than usual, mostly as a result of the heat, but also because she was keeping an eye out for Conspiracy. Ahead of her, Chat Noir zipped nimbly from building to building, undeterred by either the day's stifling atmosphere or his concern for the appearance of their enemy. Ladybug was falling behind.

"Chat Noir, wait!"

She thought she'd seen a rapid movement out of the corner of her eye. Ladybug stopped on a fire escape, leaning over the rusted metal railing into the street below. A sedan drove past. Another followed, but upon several seconds of scrutiny, Ladybug saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Chat!"

Giving chase once more, Ladybug tried to focus on keeping up with her partner, but now that she was making an effort to ignore her surroundings, her mind was even more intent on playing its tricks. She ordered herself not to turn her head, not to get distracted. Chat Noir, like the rest of his family, was unhinderable when determined to protect someone he cared about. She loved him for it, but when situations demanded practicality, this made him difficult to work with. Ladybug called his name once more, but he was too far ahead by now to hear her.

She braced to jump the gap between two buildings. Right as she reached the edge of the rooftop and fired herself up into the air, Ladybug startled at the sight of something in her periphery, registering in the sliver of a second it took her wince that this was no imagined streak of shadow, but a solid shape. Ladybug breath caught as she realized her fumble would cause her to miss her landing, and sure enough, she barely scraped against the opposite wall before she crashed down into the empty backstreet beneath.

The breath was blown out of her lungs upon her striking the ground. Ladybug's fist uncurled, and the knife spiraled across the ground away from her. She fought to regain her composure, turning over onto her side and slowly pushing herself back up despite the dull pain shooting through her spine and across her shoulder blades. Ladybug swallowed the strangled coughs that begged to leap out of her chest as her eyes settled on the form that had caused her to stumble.

His deep black glare pierced forth from behind his mask. Ladybug froze in horror as she observed: Conspiracy stood still against the brick wall at the end of the backstreet. His wings hung low, the tips of feathers hovering just centimeters off the ground. His pale lips were contorted into a tight frown as he stared, quiet and motionless, as if waiting for Ladybug to rise back to her feet.

She sucked in a few desperate breaths, each inhale sending a cool, blunt ache through her chest, but soon she began to feel the relief of regaining her breath and rose to her full height. The knife rested halfway between herself and Conspiracy. With wings like those, he had no need for another blade, but he could easily stop her from taking this one back.

Ladybug spun her yo-yo, wondering if throwing it at Conspiracy and inciting him to disappear again would help her, before she realized that the raven miraculous holder had not only been silent since she had fallen into the alley, but had been totally motionless as well. He didn't even look like he was breathing. Had he been paralyzed by the Sorcerer too?

"Conspiracy?" she called. No reaction. The longer Ladybug looked at him, the more his eyes appeared to be staring right through her. "Conspiracy?"

Queen Wasp hadn't been frozen in such a relaxed position. Conspiracy's shoulders were low, his legs straight and parallel, his head pointed directly forward. He looked vacant. Like a statue, Ladybug thought, or even less than one. A statue at least was carved with a sense of movement in flowing marble fabric or an extended limb. Conspiracy might as well have been sleeping standing up.

Ladybug inched forward, the swing of her yo-yo easing up and finally slowing down completely. The axle dangled gently as she pressed on. Her gaze flicked between Conspiracy and her Lucky Charm. With him in this state, she feared what a sudden movement would cause. Was this all an act? Was he waiting for something?

At last, she drew close enough to place her foot over the knife's handle. Ladybug held his blank, inky stare as she dragged the blade close, lowered herself warily into a crouch, and closed her hand over it. She didn't want to spare her focus long enough for Conspiracy to make a move by trying to think once again of a way to use it.

She wished Chat Noir was here. By now, he must have noticed that she was no longer on his tail.

"If you're going to just stand there," she murmured, "then now would probably be the perfect opportunity for me to tell you that breaking into an infant's room in the middle of the night is shameful, and that whatever you, Lila, and the Sorcerer are after, you should be disgusted."

Nothing. A chill shot up her spine.

Ladybug dared to step even closer. Then closer. And then she was just two meters away from him. If he lunged, he could decapitate her. The thought stopped her in her tracks. Ladybug unfolded the knife and grimaced at how small the blade was in comparison to Conspiracy's long black feathers.

Stillness. Silence.

Ladybug swallowed her fear. Perhaps Conspiracy's wings could slice through her yo-yo's string, but she couldn't stand here any longer. Just waiting.

She flicked her wrist to begin the axle's rotation once more.

It had made one full revolution when Ladybug suddenly went shock-still.

Two pairs of thumb and forefinger had slipped beneath her hair and pinched her earlobes.

Her earrings.

Her miraculous.

"No-!" she gasped, the yo-yo taking flight as she released its string. The axle launched over her head, but she never heard hit the ground. Ladybug twisted. She thrust the knife behind her. To her horror, it vaporized, and her fist clenched shut over empty air.

Pink light brushed its way down her body, from her head to her feet.

"Stop-!"

A strong, large hand wrapped around her shoulder and tossed her onto the ground. Marinette landed on her ass with a grunt. Above her loomed a tall, cloaked figure, whose violet garb hung loose off their body, whose hood framed a face masked in silver.

"Thank you," they said, and Marinette felt her flushed, sweaty skin go ice cold. "Lucky I caught you alone."

"What have you…?" Marinette's words were hardly discernible under her trembling breath. She pressed her fingertips to her earlobes, feeling two smooth patches of skin rather than the jewels she'd had stuck there for the last four years of her life.

"Don't worry. I'll bring them back. Once I'm finished, that is," the Sorcerer said. Marinette blinked her eyes rapidly, as if trying to stamp them out of existence. They didn't feel _real_ standing above her now. Marinette was half-convinced this was just some terrible hallucination, that if she blinked enough times, she'd find herself back on her feet, covered head to toe in red and black, staring Conspiracy in his vacant face, the miraculous still secure in her ears.

They were walking away before Marinette had the chance to respond, their cloak sweeping against the fallen leaves and loose pebbles littering the backstreet. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. Like pages being thoughtlessly turned. Like a story reaching its end too quickly.

"No, please," she choked out. "Don't do this. You can't. You don't know what you're doing."

But the words never reached the Sorcerer's ears, who emerged back into the sun's light on its beatdown. Marinette watched them grapple around their belt, hand falling on bottle after bottle of potions she couldn't begin to predict the use of, when they paused with their head aimed down. Under their breath, a deep curse reverberated back to Marinette. "Used my last one," they growled. "Walking it is."

A bottle filled with a bright green liquid was removed from their belt. Marinette had just gotten back to her feet, when they commanded, "Shelter." The bottle burst, and a forcefield formed around them, one exactly like the protective shields the holder of the turtle miraculous were meant to create. A deep anguish wrenched through Marinette's heart as she thought of Wayzz, as she thought of the miraculous the Sorcerer needed to create such a forcefield, as she thought of the man who had used that miraculous for over 170 years before them.

The man she'd failed.

"_It's yours now._"

The Sorcerer stole a final glance back at Marinette (at least, as far as Marinette could tell, they were looking at her) and took off, the shield moving with them.

Marinette shouldn't have followed. The Sorcerer was dangerous and untouchable and _they had her miraculous_.

But her feet moved instinctively. She emerged out of the alleyway, she started to give chase, and would have kept moving if she hadn't been suddenly grabbed from behind for the second time. Marinette yelped and elbowed whoever it was that was behind her.

"Cool it, Dupain-Cheng!"

"Chloe?!"

"It's Queen -"

She stiffened. Marinette had whirled around and thrown her arms around the akumatized, now-unfrozen girl, who might as well have been frozen once more based upon her unwillingness to return the embrace. "Whoa," she said. "What on earth happened? Is that the Sorcerer?"

"Chloe, they took them."

"Who took what? What are you doing out here? It's not safe."

Marinette pulled away, gripping Queen Wasp's shoulders hard enough to make her cringe and glaring straight into her burning magenta eyes. "The Sorcerer took my - they took Ladybug's -" Marinette gasped, feeling something inside her falter, like her very soul had been heaved off balance. Tears flooded her eyes, until Queen Wasp was a blur of black and yellow. "They took the miraculous."

"Wh-what miraculous?" asked Queen Wasp, her voice softer than Marinette had ever heard it, at least directed at her.

It took all of Marinette's strength not to sink to her knees. Her grasp on Queen Wasp weakened. Her head slumped. Marinette stared at her two regular pale pink slippers - she was still in her pajamas from the night before - and gave a sigh that crescendoed into a rattling sob. "Ladybug's miraculous."

"No way," Queen Wasp whispered. She stepped back, so that Marinette's hands had nothing else to do but bury her tear-soaked face. She could feel the akumatized girl's gaze fixed on her. Queen Wasp's voice was feather-light, lifted high by her shock. "Marinette," she breathed, "You're Ladybug, aren't you?"

Left with no reason to lie, Marinette nodded.

Several moments of wordlessness passed in which Marinette was left to dry her tears under Queen Wasp's astounded gaze. Above their heads, a cloud of insects swarmed, the drone of their flight creating a low hum that flooded the street. Once Marinette had mostly quieted her cries, a bright purple light shone around her ally's face in the shape of a butterfly. Queen Wasp listened for a minute, and then she nodded, dismissing the connection.

"Hawkmoth and Chat Noir are coming. They're not alone."

Queen Wasp grabbed Marinette and stepped in front of her, holding her arms out to shield her body. Marinette let herself be pulled as though she were as light as a doll. A voice at the back of her head commanded that she pull herself together, insisted that she was Ladybug with or without the mask, but her body and her heart felt weak enough to be crushed.

She didn't even have Tikki to comfort her.

From down the road, three familiar figures became visible, the first of which was Volpina.

"Hawkmoth told me she took off when Chat Noir arrived, but that the potion wore off quick enough that they could follow her. I'll handle this." Queen Wasp thrust in arm out towards the advancing Volpina, and her throng of insects darted forward. In the distance, Marinette watched Volpina's eyes go wide. She created an illusion with a swing of her flute, and the wasps slowed to a stop.

"What are you doing? Go!" Queen Wasp ordered.

They wouldn't. Volpina had enveloped herself in an illusion of a water shield. She looked about ready to change directions as well, until she spotted Marinette. She halted on top of a lightpost. Through the screen of water surrounding her, Marinette could not make out the expression on her face, though she hardly imagined she was looking into a pleased one.

Chat Noir and Hawkmoth noticed her too, both of their determined expressions reeling.

"What is she…?" Volpina's voice was dark and dripping with venom.

Queen Wasp commanded her insects to advance. When a number of them obeyed, Volpina shot a water spout out of her shield, scattering the creatures.

"What is she doing here?" shouted Volpina. It was just visible, the way she turned her head, first towards Chat Noir and Hawkmoth, who stared at Marinette, appearing stunned and devastated, and then towards the alleyway across the street. Right on the curb lay a bed of glass shards from the bottle the Sorcerer had used to hold their turtle potion.

The shield trembled. Droplets of water rained down from the light post and burst against the ground where they disappeared.

"Conspiracy," Volpina said, "There you are."

Queen Wasp cut her arm through the air, sending her insects from their idle position surrounding Volpina towards the alleyway. Chat Noir and Hawkmoth tore their attention away from Marinette to meet them. Wasps swarmed down the backstreet, and both Queen Wasp and Marinette raced to see them make a victim out of Conspiracy, whom Marinette had totally forgotten about after the Sorcerer had stolen her miraculous. She only hoped that he hadn't disappeared. He must have been paralyzed just as Hawkmoth and Queen Wasp had. He must have been used as a distraction by the Sorcerer to give them an opening to take the earrings. He must have -

Marinette stepped into view just as one of the wasps stabbed its stinger into Conspiracy's chest.

For one moment, one abrupt and relieving moment, Marinette's heart soared with victory.

But the next, it plunged into her stomach.

Because Conspiracy disappeared, again.

Queen Wasp balked, "What? How is that possible?"

Chat Noir and Hawkmoth leaped down from the rooftop, watching as that dark plume of smoke dissipated into the air leaving nothing in its stead but a swarm of confused wasps.

"He was an illusion," Chat Noir said. "But, how? Volpina was already using her power to make the water…"

A hand closed around Marinette's upper arm. Another slapped over her lips, and she was dragged from her position behind the other heroes at the edge of the alleyway over to the storefront wall. Volpina pinned her there, viciously ripped back Marinette's sweaty black hair and scrutinized her empty ear lobes. Marinette nearly released a muffled scream, but Volpina closed her fingers around her neck, squeezing her airways too tight for audible sound.

Her visage was warped ferociously. Volpina leaned her face into Marinette's and snarled, "You always wear earrings, Marinette."

Something that might have been, "_Help_" escaped her lips with what little breath she could manage to expel.

Volpina's eyes sliced to the side, landing on that pile of glass shards on the curb. Her lip curled back, and she jerked Marinette against the wall. "The Sorcerer, they took them, didn't they?"

"_Let. Go._"

She'd seen Lila angry before. She'd been privy to those many relinquishments of her sickly sweet exterior in favor of aggression and intimidation and bitterness and _rage_, but Volpina now looked madder than Marinette had ever witnessed. It was like something had broken behind her eyes, and now they reflected the light in many different jagged, uneven directions.

"Of course they did. It only figures they'd take what's mine." Volpina's fingers tightened, until Marinette couldn't breathe at all. "Miserable bitch."

But suddenly, she released Marinette, who slid down the wall coughing for breath. Volpina backed away, her gaze flashing with enough fiery wrath to light the city on fire. Marinette's noise caught the attention of her allies. They rushed out of the alley to her aide. Volpina reformed her shield of water illusion and fled.

"And for the record," she called back, leaping up the side of the building for the roof. She paused just long enough to wave her flute, and right beside her, Conspiracy materialized, and to Marinette's shock, he faded into existence the same exact way he had always reappeared.

After avoiding a blow.

After _escaping touch_.

_I haven't been able to touch him once_.

Vacant. Motionless. Volpina punched her fist through her shield. Her knuckles collided with his arm.

He evaporated into shadow.

"Holy shit," Chat Noir gasped.

Volpina turned away. "He was never real."

She was gone.

Queen Wasp ordered her wasps to follow, but Marinette let out a strangled cry for her to stop. "She's going after the Sorcerer," she explained hoarsely. "After my miraculous. Don't paralyze her. She'll lead you right to them."

Chat Noir was at her side, "Bugaboo," he said, eyes bright with worry. He drew her into his arms, hugging her tight to his chest.

"What happened? The Sorcerer took your miraculous?" Hawkmoth demanded.

"There's no time to explain. You need to follow Lila, before you lose her," Marinette rasped. She rubbed her neck, feeling out the spaces where bruises were sure to form.

Hawkmoth turned to his akuma. "Queen Wasp, I want you to bring Marinette somewhere safe. Take her to my-"

"Hawkmoth," Chat Noir said with warning, reminding his father with the edge to his tone that Queen Wasp already knew more than she was meant to.

"Queen Wasp, bring Marinette somewhere safe," Hawkmoth said again, "Take her wherever she tells you to go."

The correction made, Chat Noir handed Marinette off to the akumatized girl. He brushed back her bangs and stroked a finger down her cheek. "M'lady, it'll be okay, I promise."

"Careful, buddy, she has a boyfriend," Queen Wasp quipped.

Marinette and Chat Noir exchanged a look. "This isn't going to hold up, is it?" Chat Noir asked.

"What isn't?"

"Just take her, Chloe."

Queen Wasp rolled her eyes and bounded up to the rooftops. Marinette watched Chat Noir and Hawkmoth take off in the opposite direction. Her partner landed in the same spot Volpina had stood a moment ago, when she created Conspiracy out of nothing with the wave of her flute, as though he were as simple as a brick wall or a flash of light. Marinette's blood turned to ice. Because it was impossible, because it didn't make any sense.

How could she make two illusions at once?

How was Conspiracy an illusion the whole time?

Marinette had become way too familiar with Lila's deceit over the last several years, but though all logic shrieked that this couldn't possibly be, she felt it in the way her blood became ice water that somehow, some way, she was telling the truth this time.

Some bizarre, unbelievable truth.

"Should I take you home, Dupain-Cheng?" asked Queen Wasp. More softly, she wondered, "Marinette?"

"No." It still hurt to speak, but Marinette went on, "There's someone I made the mistake of leaving in the dark last night. I'm not going to screw up like that again."

"Okay, so where do I take you?"

"You have to promise to stay out of the room when we arrive."

"Got it, whatever."

Marinette clutched her hands tightly around Queen Wasp's neck. "Take me to the Agreste mansion."

* * *

**...if it doesn't make sense now, it will. Bear with me :')**

**~Lullaby**


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

There was no news coverage of this fight, and that was probably a good thing. Nathalie didn't know if she'd be able to withstand watching it from the outside. These villains were clearly a lot less interested in causing a disturbance than any akuma or amok had been, and were bound to catch a lot less attention. She'd received an alert on her phone warning that a battle was taking place, but there was no news footage to tune in to. No photos being shared around. Not yet anyway. But she expected that if it went on much longer than this, those things would begin to surface.

She remained all the while in the bedroom, staring between the windows and the ceiling. The house was still and quiet, and Nathalie supposed that it always had been, at least after Emilie fell asleep and took her musical voice and purposeful, sweeping movements with her. Nathalie remembered hearing hardly more than the sound of her own typing, the occasional opening and closing of doors, perhaps the trickle of piano notes from Adrien's old room. And silence otherwise. Emptiness otherwise. When she joined Gabriel's bed a year and a half ago, she would lay awake at night, tangled in his arms, staring into the darkness and thinking about how quiet it was. Cold and quiet. Even as she was warm pressed up beside him, she couldn't help but notice how freezing everything looked, in white and black and sharp angles and stone surfaces.

The house had lost its life when it lost Emilie, its active beating heart. Now, though most of its furniture was left, the Agrestes took with them whatever few things in the house they felt belonged to them. It was even more of an empty shell than it used to be, and maybe that was why Nathalie still found it to be cold even while her clothes were stuck to her body with perspiration. The air conditioning was off, and the day, still just beginning, was humid and stifling.

The baby had been stripped of her onesie and laid on the bed beside Nathalie. Unwilling to part with her, Nathalie still held her child's hand as she drifted in and out of sleep. Each time Anaïs's eyes fluttered open once again, Nathalie whispered, "Everything is alright."

The baby set her light blue gaze on her mother's face and yawned.

"Everything is alright." Nathalie was telling herself as much as she was telling Anaïs. She'd gotten so used to the house's quiet, but it was starting to disturb her now. "We're alright. They're alright."

Anaïs shook out her arms.

"You've gotten so big," Nathalie murmured. Her baby was six weeks old now. "You were three-and-a-half kilograms when you were born. Look at you now."

She blinked. The littlest of smiles between her round, pink cheeks warmed Nathalie's chest.

She pressed her thumb into the palm of Anaïs's hand. "I remember thinking you were so fragile, just the most breakable thing in the universe, but I was wrong. You're stronger than me, darling. You are my heart."

Nathalie looked up to the window again. The curtains were drawn shut and there was nothing to see, but she stared as though the whole outside world was spread out before her, tall and wide and full of shadows and sun, earth and air, brimming with the present moment while still containing the marks of yesterday. Through the curtains, Nathalie imagined her husband, her son, his girlfriend rushing from one rooftop of Paris to the next, and she imagined the ghost of herself doing the same. Years ago. Following their same path for very different reasons. Past and present converged in her head and blended like oil and water. She pressed Anaïs's hand harder, and the baby jerked it away.

"I'm sorry," Nathalie whispered, glancing back. She leaned down and lightly kissed Anaïs's fingers. "I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry about last night. I know it wasn't my fault and I did all I could, but I'm sorry anyway. You won't remember it, but I'm sorry you saw me like…" Wild, angry, transformed, all for the right reasons, so why did it hurt so much? "Like that."

Anaïs shut her eyes, her nose wrinkling with a yawn.

"Your father is trying to make up for it all." Nathalie was sweating. She let go of her baby's fingers for a moment to stand up, pull her hair a messy bun at the top of her head, and fan herself with her clothing. She had half the mind to open the window, but she didn't want to come any nearer to it, as irrational as it was to think that winding it by a crack would lead to any sort of disaster. Nathalie shook her head at herself. She was paralyzed by fear, and that was the problem, wasn't it? "He's a changed man, a better man, but he's still himself, and if you ask me, that's enough. Regardless, as much as he can manage to redeem his own mistakes, all his actions can do nothing to redeem mine. I made my own choices too, Baby Girl, and both he and your brother have told me not to think them worse than Hawkmoth's. That's what they think, and I should listen, but…" Nathalie glanced down. Her baby twitched a leg, falling asleep once more. "But what are _you_ going to think?

"Your mother has wrongs to answer for, but she is too weak to do so. Could you forgive me for that, or am I a coward for asking?"

Anaïs's fist opened and closed

Nathalie jumped when her cell phone buzzed on the dresser. Thinking it to be a news alert, she hesitated to cross over to that side of the room, but her urgent need to know what was going on won out. Nathalie grabbed her phone, and an eyebrow quirked in confusion.

It was a text message.

From Marinette.

_Mrs. Agreste_, it read, _I'm outside the house. I need to talk to you. Unlock the front door and then go to the atelier. I won't enter until you're there_.

It was a strange message. Nathalie sent one back, asking, _Should I be worried?_

_Probably_. And a moment later, _There's not a lot of time, so hurry. _

Nathalie inhaled deeply and chose to comply. After scooping Anaïs off the bed, she made her way out of the room, through the upper hall, down the stairs and towards the front door. She paused momentarily with her bandaged hand on the lock, asking herself why Marinette would arrive in this fashion, and in the middle of a battle? Surely, it was still going on, or she wouldn't be alone.

But she turned the lock, and the click of the release sounded out. As instructed, Nathalie walked briskly to the atelier, a room that was mostly empty but for the built-in seating arrangement in the center of the space, and the towering gold portrait that continued to conceal the house's secret mechanisms.

Out in the foyer, she heard the front door open and shut. Nathalie tensed when she detected a pair of voices whispering between themselves in the foyer, one of which belonged to Marinette, and the other also of a teenage girl, though Nathalie couldn't tell immediately who. Her first thought was of Alya Cesaire, Marinette's best friend, but quickly she made out the voice to be much higher-pitched than Alya's.

Marinette appeared in the atelier a moment later and swiftly shut the door. She was detransformed.

"Who are you with?" Nathalie demanded.

"Queen Wasp," was the answer. Marinette released the door handle and turned around. Red, swollen eyes met Nathalie's across the room. She wasn't sure that she had ever seen Marinette cry. The sight bewildered her before it scared her, and for several moments, Nathalie watched the younger girl drift further into the room, her movements slow and dull before she finally collapsed into a seat, giving a trembling sigh.

And then, Nathalie felt the dread set in. She stepped closer, a hand cupping Anaïs's head and bringing it closer to her chest. "What happened?"

Marinette's lips curved into a small, rueful smile. She brushed back the messy strands of dark hair framing her face, tucking them behind her ears. With her thumbs, she gestured.

It took Nathalie a moment to notice, but when she did, her heart plunged into her stomach. A chill that began at the base of her skull slithered all the way down her spine, piercing her nerves with ice. Nathalie let out an audible gasp. "You earrings -" she choked out, before slapping a hand over her mouth.

"The Sorcerer took them. Snuck up right behind me and took them while I was distracted. It was that quick. That simple."

"How…?" Nathalie approached and knelt down beside Marinette. The younger girl glanced sadly down at the baby, reached out and stroked her hair. "What…? What are you…?" Nathalie didn't know what to ask, what to say. In all the battles Ladybug had fought, she had never lost. She'd only given up her earrings once before, and it was by choice, it was because she knew that was the only way to put an end to the struggle that had dragged for years and climaxed with the question of life and death. Nathalie never imagined Ladybug's miraculous would be taken from her, leaving her with nothing, leaving her as just Marinette.

It shocked her so much that the implications set in very, very slowly, like water being brought to a boil. Nathalie had placed her bandaged hand gently on Marinette's arm, and gradually, her grip tightened as she started to realize what this meant for the Sorcerer. They now had one half of the world's most powerful weapon at their disposal, and consequently, no Ladybug to face them. The gashes hidden beneath her bandages started to sting the more pressure she put on them, and Marinette shifted uncomfortably. She removed Nathalie's hand.

"Fuck," Nathalie cursed. She sank into a seated position, staring at the baby. "Fuck."

"Mrs. Agreste," Marinette said quietly. "I came here to tell you what had happened. I've made the mistake of not being completely honest with you recently, and I need to mend that. Hawkmoth and Chat Noir are pursuing the Sorcerer and Volpina now," she began to explain. "It seems that they are no longer on the same side. Volpina is enraged that the Sorcerer took my earrings. Despite everything, this could be a good thing. The discord between them might provide us an advantage."

Nathalie's head was spinning, but she tried to fight through it. She latched onto Marinette's optimism and breathed deeply. "You're right."

"I don't trust that Volpina could outmatch the Sorcerer, but maybe their conflict could buy us some time to figure out what to do next."

"Why did you come to the house?" Nathalie murmured. "And why did you bring Queen Wasp with you? Does Chloe know who you are?"

"Yes, she does," confirmed Marinette. "She never questioned my decision to come here. I think after she realized my identity had been revealed, she considered it best not to press further. If she asks me any questions, I will tell her we designated this place a superhero hideout after you guys moved. It's big and secure enough that she'll believe that."

Nathalie was unsure, but she couldn't bother to argue with Marinette now about the imperativeness of keeping everyone else's identity locked. That was quite possibly the last thing the girl needed to hear right at the moment. Instead, she said, "Very well. So Volpina and the Sorcerer are fleeing. What about Conspiracy?"

"Oh…" breathed Marinette. Her blue eyes took on a curious gleam, her narrow brows falling low. "Conspiracy. He's...Nathalie, Conspiracy isn't…"

"What?"

"He's an illusion. He's always been an illusion. Since the beginning."

Marinette told Nathalie the story, how, after falling behind Chat Noir, she had caught Conspiracy standing in a backstreet, vacant and motionless as though paralyzed, or more accurately as though neglected by his controlling force. His strange state was what had captured her attention long enough for her miraculous to be taken, but when Queen Wasp finally showed and attempted to use her power against him, he vanished after being made contact with, the same way he disappeared each time somebody got too close to him. Nathalie sat back, listening in stark surprise, the hairs on the back of her neck raised in alarm, as she recalled the previous night's encounter.

She'd seen him, she'd seen a shadow, she'd seen an _illusion_ standing over her daughter's crib, his giant wings looming there above her head. Nathalie, in a blind, horrified fury had sliced her hand open because of an illusion. She had bashed a hole into the wall because of an illusion. She had _used a miraculous_ because of an illusion. She had laid awake all night, clutching that poor child to her heart as she trembled at the image of him in her mind, cowering at him, at the person he made her become, and he was never real. Not even from the beginning.

"The problem is, it doesn't make sense," Marinette said once she had finished telling the events. Nathalie tried to shrug away the shock, but she couldn't dismiss the ill feeling in her stomach, that an illusion had been utilized to such extreme lengths solely to provoke her, to frighten her child and the rest of her family. Marinette went on, "Even though Volpina isn't constrained by time limits anymore, just like Chat Noir and I are not, she should still be able to only create one illusion at a time. She's been creating at least two, as long as Conspiracy was active, she shouldn't have been able to also produce flashes of light, bricks, floating cars, a shield of water. That's not how the miraculous work."

Nathalie was silent for a moment, swallowing the stone in her throat. Then, at last she said, "The Sorcerer, Marinette. The Sorcerer can recreate miraculous power. Volpina has her illusions, and the Sorcerer controlled Conspiracy."

"Every time?" Marinette questioned. "Maybe the Sorcerer had created the illusion of Conspiracy to distract me, but Volpina was the one who demonstrated he wasn't real. She had already produced an illusion of water when she produced another of him, right in front of our eyes. She made two at a time. It shouldn't be possible."

"Is it conceivable you have greater ability than you think you do?" asked Nathalie. "Have you ever tried to call on two Lucky Charms at a time?"

Marinette blinked. "I...I don't know. But what about Hawkmoth? He was only ever to make a single akuma at once unless his powers were enhanced."

"Well, then, unless there are two fox miraculous, I don't have an explanation."

"Two fox…?" Marinette shook her head. "Who knows?"

Nathalie stood up, and Marinette did as well. The younger woman reached into the pocket of her sweatpants. "There's only one thing left to do. If I can't use the ladybug miraculous, then I have to…" She pulled out a familiar brooch, at the sight of which, Nathalie reflexively stepped back. Marinette minded this, and balled her fist over it, bringing it close to her throat.

"You have the peacock miraculous?" asked Nathalie.

"I bring it everywhere I go. Since all the others were stolen, I figure that it would be a bad idea to part with it."

Eying her warily, Nathalie wondered, "Will you transform with it?"

"It's my only choice now, isn't it? I never thought the peacock miraculous was right for me, but as long as my miraculous is in someone else's hands, I have to do whatever it takes." Marinette sniffled. Her voice had faltered during the last half of her sentence, but she took a deep breath and leveled her words. "I can't stand by. I have to do something. With or without the earrings, waiting around is not an option."

She glanced up when Nathalie set a hand on her shoulder, eyes glittering with surprise that the older woman's touch was so gentle and affectionate. "I understand, Marinette."

"Would you feel strange about me using it?" she softly asked.

Nathalie shook her head. "You must carry on. Until this is behind us, we have to - _you_ have to keep fighting. It's painful to do nothing, when you know there's so much to be done, but I'm sure you know that better than anyone, being a superhero."

"I do, but you know it too, being a mother and a wife," said Marinette.

"I knew it long before."

Marinette hesitated to pin the brooch to her shirt. She rocked it between her thumb and forefinger, allowing its blue edges to catch the natural light streaming delicately through the closed, translucent curtains.

"I'm sorry if this is not what you want to hear right now," she said, studying the brooch's spotless craftsmanship. "But if it really hurts you to do nothing, then you should know that you have a lot more power than you think."

Nathalie's subsequent laugh was sad and bitter, and it made Mairnette shrink away. "That's the difference between us, isn't it? You fight until you're forced to stop, while I'm given every opportunity to fight and don't take it."

"I can't help but feel like it's partially my fault. Had I not confronted you about taking back the miraculous ten days ago, would this be easier for you now?" asked Marinette.

Nathalie bit her lip, taken aback by the younger girl's tone. Marinette had walked in steeped in emotion, but her words built with fervor the more she spoke.

She hung her head, screwing her eyes shut. "Even if it would have been hard for you regardless, I can't help but feel like I backed you into a corner. All I wanted was to feel like I had everything under control, but I never did. I don't have anything. All of it was taken from me but this." She dropped the peacock miraculous down to her side.

"You've done the best you could, Marinette," Nathalie tried to reassure her.

"No, I could have done a lot better. A lot better by you."

"Me?"

"In many ways. I should have been more attentive about your recovery. I should never have tried to manipulate you and Mr. Agreste. I should never have let you take on such a huge mission with so little resources - I _know_ what it's like to be left with nothing. And I should not have decided for you what amount of honesty you could handle. I did everything wrong." Marinette wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and lifted the bangs off her face. "I know you've had to deal with things that I can never understand, but I should have made it easier. I should have helped. And all I did was alienate you, from the very beginning. I handed off your healing potion like it had nothing to do with the miraculous, like it wasn't my responsibility as the guardian to be the one in control of this. Like I didn't care. And I'm sorry."

Nathalie was stunned. She hadn't expected an apology like this from Marinette, one so thorough and passionate that it flushed the girl's face bright read and quickened her breath. Nathalie hardly knew what to say in return. It took Anaïs squirming in her arms to snap her back to her senses.

"Oh," was all she managed at first, while she readjusted the baby in her grip. Marinette turned away and faced the door behind her, clearly trying to regain her composure. A pause followed where Nathalie processed all that was said. Her own vision blurred with tears, and for the first time in several days, Nathalie felt a weight being lifted from her heart. "Marinette," she called.

"Yes?" was the whispered reply. Marinette turned just enough that the expression on Nathalie's face was visible. It caught her eye and she completed her rotation, relief evident in the way her tense shoulders fell and her fists relaxed.

"I know we've had a rough go of it, but I see you're trying," said Nathalie. "This is a...complicated family. It was never going to be easy for you."

"That's not an excuse."

"No, it's not. But you're remorseful, and I know you want what's best for us." Nathalie smiled faintly. "Consider everything forgiven."

Marinette's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"There is too big of a threat to face right now for me to continue to resent you," answered Nathalie. She tossed a look at the curtains, always trying to see past them, imagine the city as it ran with villains and heroes alike, while she and Marinette stood in the atelier, witnessing none of it. "Go on. You said yourself you can't stand by idly. Transform."

Marinette pinned the peacock miraculous to her shirt. Both women held their breath as the brooch lit up under deep indigo light. A space in midair shared the same condensed glow, which painted each of the white marble spaces in the room blue. Nathalie soothed the baby when she babbled in surprise, but her delicate hum was just as much for her child as it was for herself, for her heart drummed madly in her chest from the moment Marinette had activated the brooch. Nathalie rooted herself to the floor, focusing her gaze through the light-headedness that washed over her in anticipation.

And then, the lights quieted. There was Duusu, floating in the center of the room.

Nathalie's throat went dry as sandpaper.

"Oh, hello," said the kwami. She rustled her tail feathers in greeting. "It's nice to see you again, Master Marinette."

"Just Marinette will do," replied the young guardian, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Duusu circled her a couple times, beginning to speak on some experience she had enjoyed upon her reunion with the other kwamis in the miracle box, but after a couple moments, she took notice that she and Marinette were not alone in the atelier. Duusu's magenta stare locked on Nathalie, who went stiff under her dark, piercing gaze. After an unbearable silence thickened the already suffocating air, Duusu finally peeled her eyes away to glance around the atelier, from the window to the portrait on the opposite end.

She said, "Here again. _You_ again."

"Duusu," murmured Nathalie hoarsely.

"You're okay."

_I'm okay_. Nathalie felt the urge to deny it to herself, but she couldn't. Duusu was right. She wasn't sick. Not like she used to be. Most of the time the kwami had seen her, Nathalie was grappling for her own senses, coughing and dizzy and wasting away under waves of agony trying to drag her under. The last time Duusu had seen her, Nathalie de-transformed, remained conscious just long enough to feel the strike of those eyes into the back of her skull, and succumbed to blackness. There hadn't been a goodbye. Nathalie didn't even have time for that.

But today, Nathalie stood tall. Her pulse raced and her lips trembled, but she was in no danger of falling apart. Nathalie was alive. Nathalie had survived.

The baby responded to Duusu much the same way she responded to Nooroo, with great interest. Anaïs reached out and tried to close her fist over Duusu's indigo tail feathers. The kwami lifted just out of reach and smiled brightly at her. "A baby! Is it yours?"

"Yes," Nathalie laughed, feeling a bit of the tension slide off her shoulders.

"Wow, I've never seen a human baby this close up. A lot has changed, hasn't it?" Duusu asked.

"Yes," said Nathalie again. Just a year ago, Anaïs was not even a thought on her mind. Seeing Duusu again was even less.

"Things change so quickly for humans."

"Duusu, we don't have a lot of time," Marinette interjected. "There are a couple new villains giving us some trouble, and I already lost my earrings to one of them. That's why I need you."

The kwami spun back around to look at the guardian, fixing her eyes on the brooch pinned lopsided to her shirt. "I'll be going with you? Not Nathalie?"

"Nathalie doesn't…" Marinette met the older woman's gaze over Duusu's head. "She doesn't feel comfortable with transforming again after everything she went through."

Duusu winced.

"What's the transformation phrase?"

The kwami didn't answer. She glanced at Nathalie, who felt a pang of guilt at seeing the wounded expression on her face. Softly, she asked, "Did I do something wrong? Is there a reason you won't transform again?"

"It has nothing to do with you, Duusu," Nathalie insisted, speaking quickly.

Tears pooled in the kwami's eyes. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

"Duusu, please. Let's not bother Nathalie about this. What do I need to say to transform?" Marinette pressed.

"I'm confused. You're saying she doesn't want to transform again, but I can feel that she does," Duusu replied. She gestured to the brooch. "Can't you?"

Marinette hesitated, her fingers brushing the edges of the miraculous. Nathalie suddenly felt very exposed, being scrutinized by the other figures in the room so closely. She backed away, holding the baby close against her.

"Yes," Marinette admitted at last. "I do, but...I can also feel how complicated it is. It's not a simple want; it's tangled up inside." Blushing with embarrassment, the guardian stretched her fingers out to the kwami. "Please, we need to get going."

"What about Nathalie?"

"She's fine. Leave her be, Duusu."

"But the knot _hurts_," Duusu cried. "It's hurting her! Why is it hurting her? I thought you helped her like you helped me."

"Duusu -"

"We have to fix this. She's in pain."

"She's not in pain, she's -" Marinette inhaled sharply. Across the room, Nathalie had backed all the way against the wall. Even the baby could sense her mother's distress, for she scrunched her blue eyes shut and started to cry. Nathalie, however, reamined dry-eyed. A bead of sweat worked its way from her hairline over her brow bone and stung as it caught on her lashes. She stared between Marinette and Duusu blankly, who each watched her with wary, apologetic expressions.

The kwami in particular checked herself. Her emotional outburst subsided with a shake of her head. Her pink eyes, which had been blown wide with concern, dimmed slightly, and they watched the woman against the wall keenly.

All Nathalie could utter was, "How?"

"How...what?" Marinette wondered, approaching slowly.

"How do you fix this?" Nathalie stroked her baby's cheeks in an attempt to calm her. "If I'm hurting, how do you make it stop? If there's a knot, how do you untangle it?"

Duusu glided right past Marinette and stopped beside Nathalie's face. "I can help you," she murmured, sounding much more level-headed now. "I am the kwami of emotion. I can make sense of this."

"We don't have much time," Marinette reminded her again.

"We'll be okay," said Duusu. "Nathalie has already done some of the work. She has not been silent about her emotions - I can sense the spaces where there has been release."

"Release?"

"Yes, you told someone how you feel recently."

Nathalie nodded. Last night, to Gabriel.

Duusu explained, "Everything that you're feeling right now, it's all an intricate synergy of love and fear, two of the most powerful emotional motivators that exist. Love and fear interact all the time. For example, I can feel how afraid you are for your loved ones. You fear for them because you love them." Duusu brushed away the hair fallen over Nathalie's forehead. "But in their purest forms, love and fear cannot coexist, because pure love is unconditional, and fear _is_ a condition. When as simple and unadulterated as they come, fear is not an expression of love, but its impediment, and thus an act of love is inhibited by the inaction entailed by fear."

Nathalie shushed her daughter, and Anaïs, after a couple minutes of being gently bounced in her arms, finally quieted her cries. She blinked up at her mother, whimpering, but calm.

"Last night," whispered Nathalie, "what happened, then?"

Duusu studied her for a moment. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I can feel that thread of emotion inside you. The thread had come loose, because you managed to imbue love and fear with the other, allowing for action, but…" Duusu frowned, her eyes darkening. "I sense that thread in a coil. It is twined with shame - why shame? What had you done wrong when you felt right?"

"I…" Nathalie shut her eyes, watching a shadow move against the darkness. The shadow of something that never existed. "I transformed, and I lost control."

"This fear that you have, it's complicated. There are many layers of it, I sense a deep fear, almost at the center of the knot, this fear of yourself." Duusu placed one of her little hands on Nathalie's temple, encouraging her to open her eyes. "A fear like that is only something you can dismantle by confronting it. In fact, most sources of fear must be faced in order to be overcome, but this one most of all. You're afraid of yourself because you refuse to see yourself for who you really are, for what you've really done. Oh, how did this happen?" Duusu rubbed a teardrop from her own eye. "You used to know yourself so well. I remember how defiantly you acted on love against your better judgement. Now you cloud your love with shame and punishment."

Nathalie gaped at the kwami, having nothing to say in return. Was Duusu right? Was her shame so misplaced that she failed to recognize her own sense of love?

She was once so aware of love that it ached, that she let it slowly kill her.

"But your other fear, a fear _for _yourself, it's much more common. The problem is, those two kinds of fear are so intertwined that you will not be able to extinguish one without aggravating the other. Not until you give yourself permission to pursue what lies on the other side of both," Duusu went on.

"To transform," Marinette said, and all eyes went to her. She held her hand over her heart, where the brooch was pinned. "To protect your family. I can feel them now. They're close. They're okay, but I think they need help."

Marinette removed the miraculous from her shirt. Nathalie recoiled when she offered it, her head bowed, her demeanor completely opposite of what it had been eleven days prior, calculated and aggressive and bold, when she set the peacock on the dining room table side by side in an attempt to make them run.

She didn't want Nathalie to run now.

Duusu said to her, "I'm sorry for panicking earlier. I didn't realize just how hard…" She trailed off with a heavy breath, and then went on, "It won't be easy to fix this. It will take time. The knot inside you is large and tight, but it will come undone with enough time and faith."

"It's your decision," Marinette added.

The house was quiet. It had been quiet for a long time. Nathalie's ears rang with the silence. Duusu and Marinette waited patiently for her response, while beyond the atelier door waited Queen Wasp, who they'd either be lucky enough to find as naive as they'd always thought or were foolish enough to believe didn't already know what was going on; and beyond Queen Wasp was a city in which they'd find the rest of her family, those who she had feared for, those she had always wished she could fight beside if not for the darkness chasing her around. It was a darkness that went with her everywhere she went, because it was within her. It couldn't be ignored out of her body, wrenched out of her head. It had to be faced, held, unraveled slowly, carefully, honestly.

Once Nathalie looked death in the face and walked with it.

And outran it.

And left it in a cloud of dust.

_Give yourself permission to pursue what's on the other side_.

She saw monsters there. She saw ghosts. She saw shadows and thorns and stones, but she saw light too. She saw Hawkmoth and Chat Noir and the faces behind their masks. She saw hope. And the future she'd been dying for, that wouldn't come if she didn't listen to them when they told her she was strong enough to fight. She saw people needing her.

Nathalie kissed her baby. She kissed her right on the nose and smiled when she laughed. Marinette took Anaïs into her arms, her jaw falling open as Nathalie scooped the peacock miraculous out of her palm and fastened it to her shirt.

"You'll be okay, Nathalie," Duusu whispered. "We're fixed."

_We're fixed_.

"Duusu," murmured Nathalie. The phrase trembled on the back of her tongue, tasting like copper and the color pink: "Spread my feathers."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Hawkmoth and Chat Noir lost Volpina several times. It was difficult to tell whether she was being purposefully erratic, or if the Sorcerer, who they had not once even spotted during the chase, was the one intent on shaking the pursuers from their trail.

"I don't know if I've ever faced an akuma as difficult to pin down as this," Chat Noir grumbled.

Glancing at his son with a raised brow, Hawkmoth replied, "I suppose that's the advantage of having a solid motivation, as opposed to being torn between one's own emotional impulse and the mission imposed upon them by someone else."

"Oh, so you're also realizing the _practical_ drawbacks of your previous style of akumatization?" said Chat teasingly.

"In addition to the ethical concerns, I suppose there is an inherent detriment to employing someone who doesn't want the same thing as yourself."

To see his son smile offered the slightest bit of relief from the tension in his chest. The events of that morning had happened in quick succession and he knew he had yet to process the weight of them all; however, Hawkmoth felt that the burden of gravity had pressed harder and deeper into his bones than usual, making each movement of his both weak and heavy. His breath was short, lungs feeling compressed, and each pulse threatening to launch his heart up into his throat. The intensity of the situation was enough to evoke these sensations, and Hawkmoth had yet to allow himself to feel the devastation of the loss they had experienced several minutes earlier, when he and Chat Noir discovered Marinette without her miraculous. If it set in now, he worried he wouldn't be level-headed enough to continue the current mission.

He could only assume that Chat Noir, who crouched catching his breath on a lamppost several meters beneath Hawkmoth, was more distressed than he could ever feel by such an occurrence. As his son glanced away - the half-serious jest having been made and left to hang in the humid air - the smile pulling at his lips drooped slowly into a frown. Hawkmoth understood that his son had already spent two years fearing the loss of his partner's and his own miraculous at the hands of numerous unpredictable supervillains, a few of whom had come frighteningly close to victory. To witness Marinette suffer such a momentous defeat was going to sting, purely because Chat Noir loved her and because secrecy was fundamental to their safety, but Hawkmoth knew the impact of this loss was deepened by the long history of fighting to protect the miraculous that had come before.

Hawkmoth swallowed dryly and pressed forward again, figuring it wouldn't be best to dwell in the guilt. He'd barely had the opportunity to observe how Marinette was affected by her defeat, but he was followed by a heavy, silent gloom now, a son whose mind ravaged itself out of fear and shame and why-wasn't-I-there-to-stop-it? He could read it in his eyes. He could feel it in his own blood, rippling with each gentle throb of the brooch under his throat.

Every now and then he wondered if he had done enough to mend things, if he had even been capable of an adequate apology, simply for not fully understanding all that he had made Adrien endure. When he gave up on Emilie and the miraculous, he had chosen to distance himself from his son, convinced, as much as it made him anxious, that space and freedom were what Adrien needed from him. In part, he did, but Gabriel started to ask himself later if the reason he was truly willing to step so far back was because he was too much of a coward to face the rift between them head-on. Could he bear to look Adren in the eye and admit more guilt than was already obvious? Was he strong enough to acknowledge each and every way he had wronged his child? Evidently, he decided, he wasn't. He wasn't because a piece of his past had risen from the darkness to viciously snap at his heels and threaten the new life he created, shocking him as though the old one wasn't still beating.

Hawkmoth paused again. He was trying to track Volpina's emotions in order to find them, but his son's were currently drowning out the steady anger now growing stale.

"Chat Noir," he called, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. The hero stopped not far ahead of him, still facing out towards the city, searching for any promising movement. "I'm sorry."

At this, an ear flicked. Chat Noir sighed, his shoulders slumping forward as he replied, "I know. It's awful what happened to Marinette. I keep worrying over whether she's okay, but we need to focus on finding the Sorcerer and Lila right now."

"I don't mean that. I mean, _I'm_ sorry."

"What?" His son turned around, green eyes flickering with confusion. "What for?'

The utter bewilderment in Chat Noir's voice reflected the remorse now stirring in the butterfly brooch, remorse for his actions of the previous night that had sent the household into its swift downward spiral. By his tone, Hawkmoth could tell Chat Noir didn't perceive there to be anything his father needed to apologize for, but he worried nonetheless that any remaining resentment was buried beneath the immediate stress of the situation, and would inevitably be realized with enough time to process.

He said, "For everything I had never properly apologized to you about, which would be practically everything I had ever done to make you unhappy, like subjecting you to the enormous pressure of defending your miraculous and defending your partner's."

Hawkmoth received a slow, astonished blink. "Father…"

"When all of this came to light, my reaction was to shrink away. I figured you'd seen everything you needed to see and that my regrets were apparent enough. But I should have said more. Instead, I stood back and waited for things to mend themselves, and I'm lucky they worked out the way they did." Hawkmoth shook his head. "They could have festered. They could have worsened immensely. Even though they didn't, that's no reason to be content with my feeble reparations."

"Father, please," Chat Noir pled, scrunching his eyes narrow, "you need to stop blaming yourself."

"Just seeing how you and Marinette have reacted to her losing her miraculous, I'm only understanding now how much I was putting on your shoulders by constantly pursuing you and Ladybug. I'd always known the horror of battling my own son, but I never truly comprehended the ways it burdened you."

"Why are you-?"

"I never knew how hard it is to be a hero," Hawkmoth finished.

Chat Noir watched his father silently for several seconds, appearing to be holding his breath, as if waiting for more to be said, but Hawkmoth felt deflated now, empty of any remaining explanation. Then, he ran his claws through his sweaty blonde hair and took a couple steps forward. "Father, first of all, none of this is your fault, okay? You can't keep taking on the weight of every bad thing you see happen in this family - we don't _want _that. Second of all, I've already forgiven you. Don't you understand that?"

"I know you've forgiven me - you've never said as much, but I recognize that you did. My concern is that the reason you did is because neither of us have acknowledged the full extent to which I've hindered you."

"Enough. You're not being fair to yourself." Chat Noir, appearing to remember the reason they were standing on an angled rooftop, peered at his surroundings and flashed his father an apologetic look. "I don't know if we have time to be having this conversation right now."

"I know."

"I get it. There's a lot on your mind. We saw a lot of horrible stuff in the last nine hours, but can we talk about this later?"

Hawkmoth, scolding himself for letting his mind drift so far from the task at hand, gave a silent nod. Within his mind, he continued to struggle against the tides of his grief. Chat Noir's assurance should have been enough for now, but it was all too easy to let himself think those words were given out of haste. He simply couldn't afford imperfections among his relationships, not while so much was hanging in the balance, not while his enemies knew his identity. He was terrified now, there were canyons between them repaired with bandaids rather than filled with steady earth.

But Chat Noir tossed a remark over his shoulder while they were on the move once more, gently telling Hawkmoth, "To be honest…" His voice was barely audible over the rush of their movement, "it's kind of a relief to hear you talk about it."

* * *

At long last, something changed.

The rage Hawkmoth had been tracking lost its heat over time as the emotion failed to ebb and flow. Where he had been once been able to pinpoint the direction of the person from which it originated, the clarity of the emotion lessened the more he became used to it, to the point Hawkmoth knew Volpina was in just a few blocks of them, but not where to turn in order to follow her. But finally, that blazing fury surged once more, sharpening Hawkmoth's senses. He called out to his son and turned west.

"This way! I feel her again."

As they started their pursuit, however, the anger started to fizzle away, reacting with a new emotion sprouting narrow as a needlepoint in the center of his miraculous. Within seconds, the sensation burst outward, and Hawkmoth felt every inch of his skin crawling beneath the pressure of thousands of thorns. He grit his teeth and rubbed his hands down his arms, trying to soothe the feeling.

"What is it?" Chat Noir asked, noticing his father's discomfort.

"Fear," answered Hawkmoth. They kept forward. "Dreadful fear."

"Is it someone else?"

"No, still Volpina. It's coming from the same place. We should hurry."

The warmth pumping through Hawkmoth's veins had made it even more difficult to bear the heat of the morning, but now, with stabbing sensations pressing into his flesh, Hawkmoth also felt his blood grow colder. Colder and colder the closer they got. Eventually, a bolt of horror seared through his body that was his own. Hawkmoth's eyes stretched wide and he pressed on desperately.

Chat Noir called, "What's wrong?"

"It's...it's coming from-" Hawkmoth zeroed in again, to ensure he wasn't mistaken. "It's coming from the old house!"

Maybe it wasn't Volpina after all - maybe it was Nathalie. Maybe Volpina had given up on following the Sorcerer and was threatening his family that very moment. Hawkmoth went blind with fear. He followed his other senses, the ones he could barely distinguish now from his own wild terror. With Chat Noir right behind him, they scaled the front gates and crashed down onto the stone walkway on the other side. The impact of his feet on the ground slackened the clench of emotion in his chest for just a heartbeat of relief, before the feeling once again snapped shut around his heart, pulling him tight enough to displace the heat in his body and leave him a man of ice preparing to barrel through the door.

But as he and Chat Noir bounded up the front steps, Hawkmoth came to another sudden halt, his head tilting back to gaze up at the roof.

His son prompted once more, "What's wrong?"

Hawkmoth could _feel_ the location of the emotion. He could feel the movement of its energy, the way it swelled through a wide empty space, the way it rose and rose high until it bounced off a barrier far above the head of the person it belonged to. It was like he could hold the room in the center of his palms, feel all its edges and corners, and all he brushed up against was smooth surfaces - no furniture, no obstacles, just uninterrupted space.

"They're not in the house, they're…" Hawkmoth grabbed Chat Noir by the wrist and led him up to the roof, where they crossed from the front facade towards the back, coming upon the curve of a large rose window, on the other side of which remained a room Hawkmoth hadn't visited since he'd transformed for the last time as Paris's most feared super villain. The hidden attic. His former lair.

One of the window's panels was open. Hawkmoth's miraculous pierced into his throat like a long, thin needle being quickly driven through. The way his head pounded, it mirrored the structure of the fear flying against the walls of the lair.

"In there…" he whispered. He and Chat Noir peered through the open panel, eyes catching the metal floors lit silver by the misty glare of the sun. Hawkmoth's breath leaped out of his body when he saw the shape lying beneath the light. At once, his mind told him this was Nathale, brokenly collapsed in the room, but within the next second, he realized it was somebody else.

Lila.

She was detransformed. Auburn hair spilled over her face, hiding her eyes and expression completely, but Hawkmoth knew now that the emotions he was sensing belonged to her, and they were enough of an indication for him to know that she was conscious.

But in the next moment, her soft cries rose through the dark and ensured him even more of that fact. Chat Noir glanced up urgently, meeting his father's eyes, asking the silent question, "What do we do?"

Hawkmoth did not immediately know. If this miraculous of his did not force his empathy of the girl's feelings, he might have been eager to spare no kindness at all and demand from the moment he saw her curled on the floor the reason for her presence above his old house. The fear prickling beneath his skin was so raw, so intense, that he could not bring himself to act on his anger so quickly.

Seeing his father hesitate, Chat Noir called gently through the open panel, "Lila."

The girl stiffened, and then swept her hair away with her arm to squint up into the sky. Red-rimmed eyes keyed into the figures above her head, and Lila pushed herself up to a seated position. "Oh, Chat Noir! Chat Noir, help me, please!" she begged. Her countenance now fully showing beneath the sun, Hawkmoth noticed that one eye appeared more swollen than the other, and that there might have been a spot of blood at the corner of her lips.

"Where's the Sorcerer?" asked Chat Noir, leaning further over the panel.

"Oh, _oh_, they're going to be back soon. Get me out of here!" she cried. Her high-pitched shriek echoed off the lair's walls, amplifying the sound of her terror.

The hero's ears folded back against his head. He stole a glance at Hawkmoth. "What if it's…?"

"It's no trick," muttered Hawkmoth begrudgingly. "Her fear is genuine."

"Hurry! Hurry, damn it. They could be back any second!" Lila tried to rise to her feet, but putting weight on her left foot forced her back down to her knees as she let out a hiss of pain. "Shit. Help!"

"I'll go," Chat Noir told Hawkmoth. He leaped through the open panel and landed with a light grunt on the floor several meters before Lila.

"I think my ankle is twisted - or broken - I don't know!" she yelped. "I caught up to them, and they took my miraculous. Then I fell off the wall and they brought me here and -"

"Calm down," Chat Noir said. "I'm getting you out of here, but then you're coming with us, and you _will_ answer all of our questions honestly, do you understand?"

"Fine, just -" Lila crawled forward, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks. "_Help_!"

Hawkmoth watched as his son stepped forward, readying his baton to provide a quick escape out of the lair. Nothing appeared unusual down below, but his miraculous's steady pulses of fear did not vary, despite his expectation that Lila would begin to relax with the promise of rescue. Chat Noir's emotional signature was weaker, but Hawkmoth could sense his son's wariness when he tried, and sensed along with it that it seemed to beat towards him just slightly quicker than Lila's - a strange occurrence since the distance between them was rapidly closing.

Chat Noir extended his hand towards Lila, and she reached back for him. Slowly.

Too slowly.

Hawkmoth shuddered. There was somebody else in the room.

He could not say as much before a dark shape darted out from the shadows. Chat Noir's fingers passed directly through Lila's palm, and the girl vanished.

"Adri-!"

He turned around just as a hand thrust outward faster than Hawkmoth could register it moving. Chat Noir let out a panicked screech as the three middle fingers jabbed the space between his collarbone and underarm, sending a ripple of shock through his right arm. Chat Noir's fist went limp, and an attempt to use the other to land a blow on the Sorcerer was cleanly dodged.

Hawkmoth leaped through the open panel, thumping onto the floor the very same moment the Sorcerer's arm shot out again, this time to land another sharp, lightning-quick jab into Chat Noir's bicep. His son released a cry as his arm went numb. Avoiding a charge by Hawkmoth, the Sorcerer dove low, slipping nimbly under Chat Noir's legs and delivering a final attack - this one with the thumb to the inner thigh - after which the Sorcerer grabbed Chat Noir from behind and tossed him with a grunt into Hawkmoth, sending both to the floor.

"What did they-?" Hawkmoth struggled under the weight of his son, who'd just had three of his four limbs rendered temporarily useless.

Chat Noir called upon his cataclysm, but though the energy bubbled for a moment around his fingers, it ultimately could not hold.

"They attacked your pressure points."

A loud crack against the floor brought them both back to attention. The Sorcerer stood with Lila - the real Lila, detransformed and in even worse shape than her illusion - slung over their shoulder, and the miracle box on the floor between their feet. Hawkmoth couldn't believe his eyes: some drawers bounced open with the impact of the drop, and he could see very clearly that the miraculous were still inside.

The Sorcerer kicked the box towards them, and tossed the fox miraculous back with it, which had been dangling around their wrist. "Here," they said. "Give Ladybug my thanks for letting me borrow them."

Chat Noir clumsily reached for the box and pulled it close, his hands shaking, his grip too weak to lift it off the floor.

"And I suppose," they went on darkly, turning their face to the girl hanging around the shoulder, "you can have this too."

Lila was violently thrown down, landing very luckily on her thigh. She released a pained whimper, but made no effort to move apart from rotating her head towards Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. A chill ripped down Hawkmoth's spine when he saw the haunted glow in her eyes, a fear so bright and fierce that it was like watching the moment one's life flashes through their mind from the outside. A nasty collection of cuts poured threads of blood from Lila's collar bone into her clothes, and they reminded him of Nathaile's hand the night before, like glass had been broken against her skin. She also beared a split lips and a bruised brow bone, and despite everything the girl had done, Hawkmoth felt a swell of disgust towards the Sorcerer at the sight of Lila's injuries, her horror, and the vivid, piercing stabs of her emotion beneath his miraculous.

The Sorcerer wasn't unscathed. From head to toe they were covered but for a rip in one of their gloves, revealing a bleeding abrasion on their own. Carelessly, however, they used that hand to reach for their belt as Hawkmoth finally rose to his feet, drawing his cane out in front of him.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled. "Not that easily."

He charged at them, prepared to knock the mask clean off their face. The Sorcerer swerved to avoid the strike, catching Hawkmoth's wrist only briefly. He wrenched free half a second later, and would have landed a blow to the side of their head had they not brought their palm up just in time to block the end of the cane. A rasp of pain sailed out from under their mask, and they backed away swiftly, shaking their hand out and letting a couple droplets of blood splatter against their cloak.

"Shit!" they cursed. A bottle was pulled free from their belt, a green potion.

Hawkmoth struck them on the shoulder. Another was coming for their mask when they ducked and commanded -

"Shelter!"

Exploding glass made Hawkmoth jump back with a shout. A bright green forcefield, exactly like the one used by the turtle miraculous holder appeared before their body. With a wave of their arm, the Sorcerer sent the shield surging towards Hawkmoth, who wasn't quick enough to dodge it. In a rush of emerald, he flew across the lair and smashed painfully into the back wall. Darkness bloomed through his vision as the back of his skull banged against metal.

"Agh," he gasped, "No…"

The forcefield pinned him to the wall. Sharp, burning agony fired across his head, brought tears to the corners of his eyes. He would have slid down to the floor if he wasn't almost completely immobile.

"F-Hawkmoth!" cried Chat Noir. The younger man had risen to his feet and held his baton unsteadily, fingers still too loose for combat.

Bright green was interrupted by blots of shadow following his gaze every direction it darted. Hawkmoth felt weak, and the searing pain in his skull was the only thing keeping him alert.

"Stay back!" warned the Sorcerer, outstretching their other hand towards Chat Noir.

There was a strange tone in their voice that Hawkmoth could not quite make out, something bordering on dread and exasperation. Hawkmoth realized that unlike anybody else in the room, the Sorcerer's emotions did not read clearly through the miraculous. They felt diluted and distant, like they swirled in a sea of a thousand people somewhere far, far away.

The hand they were using to maintain the forcefield eventually fell to their side. Panel by panel, the shield disappeared, and Hawkmoth dropped down to his knees, clutching the back of his head. Chat Noir hesitated, glancing between his father, the Sorcerer, and Lila, still whining on the floor. Some time during the fight, she had curled her body into a tight ball, and lay shivering feverishly.

The Sorcerer never appeared to take their eyes off of Chat Noir. They faced the hero as they slipped their hand into the belt once more and pulled out another potion, one of the remaining few, a half-full bottle of some silvery-blue mixture.

"Don't move," they said when Chat Noir started to advance. "Leave me alone."

"Let me grab Lila."

"Fine," they spat, voice shaking. "Come any nearer and you'll regret it."

Moving slowly, Chat Noir advanced towards Lila. The girl released a blood-curdling shriek as Chat Noir set his arms around her.

"What did you do to her?" he demanded, tearing himself away.

"What she deserves. Now take her!"

Ignoring Lila's other protests, Chat Noir carried her across the room, as far from the Sorcerer as he could bring her.

Now, they backed from the center of the lair into the darkness from which they emerged. The contents of the bottle glowed from the shadows, casting a cold, harsh sheen of light across their mask.

But the moment they seemed about to give the magical command, the sunlight glaring through the rose window was obscured by a large shape hovering just outside. All but Lila turned to face the newcomer, but none were prepared for what they saw.

It was Marinette.

Marnette, dropping through the open panel in the window on the back of a red and black dragon. Hawkmoth snapped out of his daze at the sight, mouth falling agape, hands spreading across the floor to steady himself against the wave of shock passing over him. The creature's slanted eyes pierced sapphire through shadow, flicking cooly across the room every which way its rider directed it. And then, Marinette caught sight of the Sorcerer standing against the wall. She thrust out her arm and commanded, "The bottle!"

Ruby red light danced across the room as the dragon twisted its long, flexible body to face the Sorcerer. A blue tongue shot out from between sharp fangs, dashing the bottle right out of their grip.

"N-no!" they stammered, fumbling to catch it, but as their fingers grazed against the bottom of the glass, they only sent it further out of reach until it smashed into the floor. Liquid silver poured towards the feet of the dragon, who huffed in satisfaction, mirroring the rider above it.

With a growl of dismay, the Sorcerer dropped to the floor and tried to scrape at a palmful of the potion, but it absorbed into their glove instantly. "Please, please, no," they said, trembling. "No!"

The tongue lanced towards them a second time, striking the side of their face, but the mask stayed put. It didn't even fall crooked. The Sorcerer recovered and leaped to their feet. They freed one of the last two bottles remaining on their belt, a maroon potion, and quickly shouted, "Lightning dragon!"

Their words were spoken too clumsily. The bottle burst, and electricity crackled at their fingertips, but the power managed to do little else than temporarily stun the creature standing against them, and Marinette along with it. But those few seconds were enough for the Sorcerer to make a running vault. They dove over the dragon's head, grasped its horns, and flipped forward. Hawkmoth flinched as the Sorcerer's feet kicked into Marinette's shoulders, forcefully throwing her off the back of the creature. Chat Noir managed to catch her, but not without being brought to the floor once again.

Hawkmoth propelled himself towards the center of the room, scooping his cane back into his grip. The Sorcerer tossed their final bottle his way, caring not what it was for, and Hawkmoth found himself drenched in some now-useless pale pink concoction when he sliced his cane through the air and shattered the bottle above his own head.

Meanwhile, the Sorcerer snapped apart the dragon's leather reins with an enraged grunt, and fell to the floor as the creature disappeared, leaving behind nothing else but a plain silver necklace and a feather twirling up into the air.

Hawkmoth's heart skipped a beat. He stiffened.

A feather.

Of course.

A streak of blue soared down from the window. The Sorcerer hissed in pain as a fan clapped into the side of their head and sent them swiftly to their hands and knees. Before they could recover, the newcomer slipped her heeled boot under their chest and elegantly cast them down onto their spine, where they lay breathing laboriously.

Mayura glared at the Sorcerer. With her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the winding feather out of the air and emptied it of its energy. Hawkmoth couldn't believe the sight of her. The transformation was different from how he remembered it. The fur lining was gone, replaced with a lace collar to better suit the stifling weather; the sleeves were wider and delicately swirled with the movement of her arms; the pink in her eyes glowed lighter; her hair hung in a low pony-tail down her back, shaped and colored like a peacock feather. Hawkmoth's chest swelled with warmth and pride. He was speechless and frozen and he couldn't imagine the look on his own face.

"Whoa…" Chat Noir murmured, while Marinette grinned in his arms.

_Whoa is right_.

"You don't know what you're doing," rumbled the Sorcerer, struggling under Mayura's foot.

"Hopefully, we'll find out. Queen Wasp." The called-upon girl also dropped into the room, a small gathering of insects buzzing around her ears. "Paralyze them for now. Once they're secure, then we'll start asking questions."

The Sorcerer roared in anger, then promptly went rigid and silent under the stinger of a magic wasp. Only then did Mayura turn her head to meet Hawkmoth's amazed eyes.

"It's you."

She almost smiled.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

In the dining room, Nathalie sat crossed-legged on a chair pulled out from the monstrously large oak table, a piece of furniture she perhaps missed least of all since the move from the mansion to the new house. Even when she, Adrien, and Gabriel had all gathered to eat around one end of the table for the sake of effective conversation, its obscene size had never failed to annoy her. She had been glad to be rid of the thing. It was less irksome now that she knew she would never have to eat another meal there again.

With a sigh, Nathalie turned her head to the window. She had drawn the curtains open just enough to see out from where she sat, and it looked like the morning gloom was thickening into a blanket of fluffy gray clouds. It would rain later, the humidity would finally break, and hopefully it would start feeling a little more comfortable in the mansion. Nathalie didn't know how much longer they would have to stay there, though she wished this would all be over in a matter of minutes.

She was hot and tired, in desperate need of a shower and some food and definitely several hours of sleep. She must not have shut her eyes for longer than an hour and a half the night before, which wasn't particularly abnormal since Anaïs had been born, but it felt to take a greater toll on her today than usual. Her eyelids fluttered as she sat breastfeeding her baby, who every now and then made a soft noise that shot her back to alertness.

"Sorry…"

Anaïs blinked slowly at her mother, drawing out a small laugh. It was a light-hearted sound Nathalie hadn't heard from her own mouth in a long time. It was a relief in its own right.

Because while Nathalie felt exhausted, she didn't feel weak. When she left the lair to fetch Anaïs after the Sorcerer's capture, she dropped her transformation and anticipated the worst. But the tightness in her chest that followed was only a manifestation of her nervousness. She was not sick. The peacock miraculous was no longer capable of hurting her. Breathless and overwhelmed, Nathalie had crumpled to the floor, feverishly pulling the hair off of her face.

Duusu had come down to her side, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she gasped. "I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I just - oh."

"You did it."

"Yes." Nathalie tasted bitterness on her tongue, the bitterness that came whenever she was craving her medicine, but she swallowed dryly and forced herself to stand again. The room swayed, but only for a moment. She pressed her palm to her heart. She tried to calm down.

"You were amazing," murmured Duusu, her tail feathers brushing Nathalie's shoulder.

And Nathalie found herself believing it. The corner of her mouth twitched into a little smile. "Thank you."

From there, she had gone to her child, feeling her pulse race in exhilaration that she did not feel weak climbing the stairs, that she did not feel flames bursting to life in her lungs, that the rooms did not spin as she passed them by, that she did not have to pretend to be alright. Nathalie fed her baby, drenched in sweat and desperate for a cool bed to sleep in, but she did not think about never waking up.

Duusu had spread herself across the table, swiping dust away with her tail. She paused and leaned over, her magenta eyes fixed on the baby. She said, "Now I understand why humans love babies so much. They're so cute!"

Nathalie smiled, staring into Anaïs's wide blue gaze, which flickered across her mother's face. "Babies are the only perfect thing in this world."

"They are pretty perfect, but don't forget, I'm right here," Duusu quipped.

"Yes, babies and Duusu. Forgive the oversight." Nathalie gently flicked at a piece of her daughter's hair.

"I never imagined you with a baby. Then again, I haven't seen very many."

"Anaïs was a surprise."

"How so?" The kwami tilted her head curiously.

"We-" Nathalie colored, shooting an embarrassed glance at Duusu. "We didn't think about having a baby. We didn't _try_ for her."

"Oh." Duusu didn't say anymore, which Nathalie was grateful for. She assumed that after thousands or millions of years of existence, kwamis would have to know where babies come from by now, but she would have liked to avoid explaining it to Duusu regardless.

It was amazing, though. Amazing and terrifying that Anaïs was not even a thought in Nathalie's imagination until the very end of August that previous year. It seemed like such little time but such hell to go through to finally meet her. Finding out she was going to have a baby knocked the breath out of Nathalie. She remembered standing there in the bathroom with the test in her hand, staring with unblinking eyes at those two pink dashes while Gabriel waited in the doorway. He must have read her mind. She remembered hearing him say "It's positive" as though he was staring at it himself, with more certainty than she could claim to have that she was processing any of this correctly. She remembered him eventually walking into the room, placing one hand on her back while he used the other pluck the test out of her shaking fingers. They sat at the edge of the bathtub, and he glanced at her and softly asked, "Do you want this?"

And she said, "Yes", not even realizing it was true until she heard it on her own tongue.

He watched her for a moment, as if expecting her to correct herself. She didn't, so he squeezed her hand and kissed her temple and whispered, "Then so do I."

But Gabriel had been worried. Worried for her, mostly. She'd stopped needing her medicine six months earlier, but that didn't stop the overprotective side of him from being unsettled at any sign of her feeling ill. She suffered from migraines and fatigue from time to time. It was nothing she couldn't handle, but she knew it was probably hard for him to see her unwell after her life had nearly been taken by the peacock miraculous. But Nathalie, leaning against him, her eyes on the pregnancy test that had been left on the bathroom countertop, promised him that she would be fine.

And she was, at first. An old habit of Gabriel's - asking how she was feeling every time she walked into a room - resurfaced, and she always gently brushed him off, even if she didn't feel all that great. Pregnancy was just like that, right? They tried to keep it from Adrien so they could tell him on his birthday near the end of September, but Nathalie's morning sickness was severe and they couldn't hide that something was going on. Adrien was pleased, overjoyed, in fact. They'd worried about his reaction, so it was a great comfort that he was excited to be an older brother. But it only managed to remedy so much. Nathalie couldn't stomach anything. Nausea kept her up at night whether or not she'd eaten all day, and Gabriel would find her curled up on the bathroom floor under a blanket she'd dragged from the bed, waiting on a relief that could never grace her for very long.

It reminded her eerily of the way she'd lay when she was dizzy from the peacock miraculous a year before: closed eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning and her stomach to stop churning, waiting for the little magic inside her to cease its habit of slowly killing her for no good reason.

Gabriel was insistent that she eat despite her abhorrence for food. There were times she managed to choke down slices of bread and spoonfuls of plain oatmeal, but they had very little luck. Almost everything that went down came back up again, and Nathalie grew weary of it fast.

She was hospitalized in November, because she had dropped eight kilograms and passed out trying to climb the stairs (luckily, Gabriel was right there to catch her and call an ambulance, for her paleness sickened him). She was dehydrated and lived off IV fluids for two weeks. At her sickest, Nathalie couldn't even swallow her own saliva. Hyperemesis gravidarum was a very different kind of illness than being slowly drained of life force by an ancient magical artifact, but she hadn't experienced weakness this heavy and dreadful since she had risked her life to use the peacock miraculous. Pregnancy might have actually been worse, only because she was desperate to be okay for her baby's sake.

Nathalie couldn't stop thinking about it: how close she had come to dying and how willing she was to be gone. She couldn't stop thinking about how far away she was from that mindset now. She clawed at her sheets as if ripping holes in things could replace the imperfections in this new life she and Gabriel had built. Every day she woke up sick was a day she felt she was being dragged back into a past where she'd taken her own life for granted. She needed that life now. _She needed it for her_. Nathalie had once come _hours_ from giving it up to the peacock miraculous and knowing that made her feel even worse.

The first thing she was able to stomach in a long time was her medicine, which she'd begged Gabriel to make as they neared Christmas. She was in and out of the hospital with cycles of dehydration and other deficiencies and was wearing out to the point where she rarely wanted to get out of bed. Gabriel told her it was only a coincidence that her condition improved once she started taking the medicine again, just like it was a coincidence that the earliest she felt the baby kick was when she swallowed that first bitter mouthful. Even though she knew he was right, she kept the medicine handy. It seemed to help when she was nauseous and that was all she could want.

By January, she was exhausted and scared. Gabriel insisted that she rest as much as possible, and promoted Alain in the middle of the month to combat her insistence that she needed to work. But she _did_ need to work. Resting gave her too much time to think, and little by little, she was starting to remember with intensifying detail what it was like to be inches from death. She started to dream about it at night, wake up clutching at her chest as if she couldn't breathe, coughing sometimes though there was nothing to cough out. Gabriel reached out from his side of the bed and put his hand on her arm while Nathalie pressed her fingers to her temples. She swore she had a splitting headache, but a few seconds later she realized she didn't feel anything at all.

Nathalie struggled to pick a name for their daughter. She didn't know if it was because none of them sounded right, or because any name at all made the baby feel uncomfortably close, closer than she already was growing in her mother's womb. Gabriel suggested _Anaïs_ one night at dinner, and Adrien liked it so much that they couldn't decide against it, but Nathalie never called her baby Anaïs. She always called her Baby, because that helped her ignore the fact that her daughter would one day not be a baby, that she would one day be able to talk and walk and think for herself and look at her parents and just not like them sometimes. Nathalie knew all children didn't always like their parents, but she found that especially unbearable because this child would have a dreadfully good reason for not liking Nathalie and Gabriel. This child had parents who were once supervillains. This child had parents who terrorized a city. This child had parents who were bad people, and might have still been bad people. Nathalie couldn't think clearly enough to convince herself she wasn't unforgivable, not when her dreams at night constantly reminded her of how much she was willing to risk to do unforgivable things.

They'd been so lucky. Unfairly lucky. She'd recovered from her illness, she'd watched Gabriel and Adrien mend their relationship, she'd married the love of her life and moved into a house that was perfect for a growing family. Maybe all of that was the universe showing her what she didn't deserve before it was ripped away again. Maybe this was the punishment she thought she'd escaped.

She finally told this to Gabriel when sharp abdominal pains signified a placental abruption in February. Nathalie thought she was having a miscarriage, but the complication turned out to not be very severe. She was kept overnight at the hospital and sent home with the instruction to stay off her feet and avoid lifting anything heavier than two kilograms. Gabriel told her the moment she slipped into bed that she was not - _they _were not being punished. He squeezed her hand, running his thumb across her wedding band and kissing it. Nathalie didn't know it at the time but he was about to ask Marinette about the butterfly miraculous, about that single shred of control he wished he had over what was happening to his wife. Perhaps Gabriel wanted those empathetic powers at his disposal once more, so he could know how she was feeling, so he could be quicker to act. Perhaps he wanted something more, something to fall back on if Nathalie was right and something went wrong…

A placental abruption happened again in March, scaring them both half to death, but it was just like the first, easily treatable and no cause for any major concern. They wouldn't run into any other complications until the baby's birth, but the next six weeks of waiting were six weeks of uninterrupted anxiety. Nathalie couldn't stop thinking about Fortune leashing her by a thread, shrewdly waiting for the right moment to cut her loose. Nathalie couldn't find any way to tell herself that things would be fine, even if the baby was born healthy. Nathalie couldn't stop imagining either a future with no baby or a future with a baby who'd grow to resent her for everything she wasn't penalized enough for. There was no way to picture a world where her family was happy and whole, because she'd done nothing to earn happy and whole.

Meanwhile her dreams never wanted to stop reminding her that she should be dead. Days before the baby's due date, she woke gasping for breath and grappling for Gabriel beside her, who woke with a harsh scare. He gave her some medicine and sat quietly with her until she calmed down, squeezing her hand every time he felt it tremble. Then, he leaned into her hand, his fingers spread across her belly, and whispered, "I don't believe I deserve this either."

"Gabriel, please -"

"Shh. Don't think about us, Nathalie. Don't think about what we deserve. Think about Adrien. Think about how excited he is to meet his sister. Think about how much he already loves her. Maybe you and I have no business having a baby, but I know you think Adrien is good enough to deserve this."

Nathalie had fallen silent. Her breathing mellowed. Gabriel played with hair while she felt the baby kick and tried to let herself smile. She hadn't smiled since Adrien and Alain had surprised her by decorating the nursery. Her step-son's radiance was impossible to ignore. It helped her through the last several days of pregnancy feeling much more at ease than she had felt through eight other months.

Anaïs was born at 4:47 AM on April 27th, and Nathalie remembered that it was raining. Waterdrops pelted the window while her baby wailed at the shock of life.

She held Anaïs for the first time against her heart and said, "Good morning."

Some hours ago, she'd been delirious enough with panic and pain to say something like, "This is death, long-overdue," right into Gabriel's face as he strained to keep as calm as possible for her sake. She didn't remember it at all, but he'd mentioned several days later when she noticed something bothering him, when after all that misery she was finally overwhelmed with joy.

Nathalie fell in love with Anaïs the second she heard her cry. For a moment, she'd believed that all her grief would melt away and leave nothing behind but that pure and perfect love, but Nathalie never stopped being afraid. Nathalie was never certain that she'd wake up in the morning with everything she still had when she went to sleep. It felt easier sometimes to wait up and watch it all lie still, just in case something shifted or fell or vanished into thin air. Nathalie didn't deserve to keep it, but she'd fight anyway.

She was fighting a little differently now. She'd spent so much time trying to resist the person she used to be, believing those demons would come bearing the form of something familiar, something that haunted her nightmares. But she'd just worn the face of that demon to stand against a new one, and she survived.

It felt like a re-beginning.

Nathalie finished feeding Anaïs, and from the dining room table where Duusu was still sitting, the kwami remarked, "You're crying."

"Am I?" Nathalie wiped her eyes and looked at the streaks of moisture on her finger as if she was bewildered by the occurrence. "Oh, I was just thinking about Ana."

"You went through a lot, didn't you? I can sense it."

"Yeah," Nathalie sighed, stroking her baby's cheek. "But it was worth it."

Both Duusu and Nathalie startled at a knock against the door. In walked Hawkmoth a moment later, his cane tucked under his arm as he pulled another chair out from the dining room table and sat himself across from Nathalie.

"Oh, hello!" exclaimed Duusu, rising into the air. Hawkmoth offered her a nod in greeting before turning back to his wife and child.

"How's it going?" Nathalie asked, shifting the baby in her arms.

"I removed Chloe's akuma and sent her off. I don't think she needs to be around for the next steps," he replied, planting the cane between his knees.

"Did she...ask any questions?" Despite the room being totally empty of anyone who shouldn't be hearing the conversation, Nathalie couldn't help but lower her voice to a near-whisper.

Hawkmoth shook his head. "No, she didn't say a word. Not to me, anyway. But what about you? When Marinette arrived here to give you the peacock miraculous, did she make any sort of comment?"

"Marinette told her this place had become a superhero hideout since we moved out. After I transformed, she and Queen Wasp left, and I met them afterwards. Of course, we had to come all the way back again." Nathalie sighed, rubbing her forehead with two fingers. "Admittedly, it's not a very steady lie. I don't know for how long we can keep it up."

"I believe the girl's smarter than she's given credit for. I only hope you and I did enough today that she'll be willing to keep her suspicions to herself." Hawkmoth held out his arms, and Nathalie passed Anaïs over. Her eyes shone up at her father as her head settled into the crook of his elbow. "Hey, love," he murmured.

"I know Chloe's relationship with the heroes is a little turbulent, but I'd think seeing us fighting side by side with them would reassure her," said Nathalie, fanning out her shirt.

"Her good word would mean a lot," Hawkmoth agreed.

"I'm still worried."

"So am I."

Trying to shake those thoughts out of her head, Nathalie went on to ask, "And what of the Sorcerer? Are they no longer paralyzed?"

"We have them bound to a chair. They've been utterly silent," answered Hawkmoth gravely.

"Have you not removed their mask yet?"

"We tried. It…" Hawkmoth shifted in his seat. "It seems to be adhered to their face."

"Ew, what?" Duusu cut in. "Can't they breathe?"

"Apparently." Hawkmoth's gaze reflected the gray light streaming from between the curtains, turning his gaze to liquid silver as he blinked at Nathalie timidly. "We're wondering if there would be a way to remove it with magic. A way that wouldn't necessarily harm them."

Nathalie glanced at her feet. "I wouldn't be able to help, unfortunately. I don't know nearly enough."

"I understand." Hawkmoth brought his chair a little closer, until their knees were nearly touching. "We'll start talking to them soon, see if we can get them to admit anything about what they're up to, who they are."

"I don't have a very good feeling about it," she admitted.

"Neither do I, but we'll have to try. Lila won't be any help."

"What's wrong with Lila?"

Hawkmoth's expression darkened. He caressed his thumb along the baby's fingers while he stared grimly into Nathalie's alarmed face. "The Sorcerer did _something_. Something with some potion. I can't imagine this happened organically." He exhaled a sharp breath and chewed on the inside of his lip before he went on, "Anyway, we're leaving her alone. She's in the lair with Ladybug and Chat Noir, curled up into a little ball against the wall. Chat tried to talk to her, but she's fairly nonsensical at the moment."

"And it's not an act?"

"No. Her emotions are far too intense for them to be insincere. From what I can tell, she's terrified. Terrified for her life, but she's also...confused. I'm not sure, there are a lot of blank spots, and others that feel tangled up."

Nathalie harbored quite a significant indignation towards Lila, but her husband's unease was quite apparent, and it invoked just the slightest bit of concern for the girl. "Duusu?" Nathalie prompted the kwami. "What do you feel?"

"Not much more than that, to be frank," was the reply. "She feels like she's floating in this sort of cloud. Something had definitely been done to her mind."

"Would you know what kind of potion could accomplish that?"

"Unfortunately, there's little I know about sorcery."

Nathalie sighed. "Yes, I figured."

A light drizzle of rain began, softly misting against the window. Hawkmoth detransformed when Nathalie told him she wanted to see his face, which allowed Nooroo and Duusu to reunite once more with a friendly, enthusiastic hug. They went into the atrium to catch up on their own, and then it was just Gabriel, Nathalie, and the baby sitting quietly together in the old dining room, listening to the gentle rain, watching it trickle down the window.

After a couple minutes, Gabriel leaned forward and kissed Nathalie tenderly on the cheek. His breath was warm on her skin, but despite the heat, she didn't mind it at all. His lips trailed down to her jaw and kissed her again, even softer this time. When he pulled away, Nathalie's heart melted at the love kindling his gaze. His face hovered an inch from hers as he murmured, "I'm proud of you."

A hand fell softly against her chest. His index finger brushed the edge of the brooch pinned to her shirt.

"Something about you just feels...brighter."

Nathalie kissed him on the mouth, taking his hand and placing it entirely over the brooch. She sighed faintly, lips curving into a smile. Pride was an emotion she'd never experienced through a miraculous before. It felt like stretching in the morning. It looked like glittering water behind her eyelids. It tasted like ice and gold.

"How are you?" he asked, when she pulled away to look at him briefly. She laughed and pressed her lips against his again. "Happier?"

"Possibly."

Nathalie held her husband's face between her hands and remembered the look he gave her when he first told her he loved her, when he said he wanted to get married, when he realized she was pregnant, when he saw their baby for the first time. She would remember his face now, that bright silver love glowing up at her. He was beaming.

Nathalie grabbed her baby and kissed her too, right on the nose. For a moment, she forgot there was a world outside this room. It was only Gabriel and Anaïs and her and if Adrien was there too, then everything would feel perfect. And even though it was fleeting, even though it wasn't even true, she'd give anything for that.

"You know what I just realized?" Gabriel asked.

"What?"

"It's the thirteenth of June."

"Is it?" It took her a moment to understand why he brought it up. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she gasped in embarrassment. "Wait - it is!"

"Can you believe it?"

"I completely forgot."

"So did I, until just now."

"It's been a whirlwind of a day. It's not even 10 AM."

"So hopefully we can get this over with and have some kind of proper celebration later?" Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, setting a hand on top of Nathalie's, the one clutching the baby's head.

"'Getting this over with' doesn't sound to me the likely way we'll be approaching this problem," she murmured sadly.

"No," he sighed, "Probably not."

"I can't believe we've been married a year," she whispered. "And all of this has happened."

"Life refuses to let us get comfortable," he remarked.

A faint buzz interrupted their conversation. Gabriel dug his phone out of his pocket and read the notification. "Adrien," he said, "'LB thinks it's time to start questioning soon. When you're ready, please come back'."

"We should probably go up, then?"

"What are we going to do with her?" asked Gabriel, glancing at the baby.

Pursing her lips, Nathalie gave it a moment of thought. Anaïs was calm in her arms, opening and closing her fists, one of which was fastened around her father's pinkie. "I'll call Alain. He must be at the office today since he hasn't wondered where we are at this point. I'll tell him to get someone to cover his work there so he can watch the baby for a few hours."

"You don't think he'd mind playing nanny?"

"I feel bad, but he doesn't have a choice. I'm not leaving her alone again, and I'm certainly not bringing her into the same room as Lila and the Sorcerer, whether or not they're tied to a chair." Yet, the thought of parting with Anaïs was a threatening one. After the encounter in the nursery that had shaken her just hours earlier, Nathalie could not help but tighten her grip around her daughter as she visualized herself handing her away for an uncertain stretch of time, even if it was to a person she trusted.

Gabriel sensed that she was becoming anxious once again, because he reached out and tucked the hair behind her ear before letting his palm come to rest against her jaw. He offered her a reassuring smile. "Very well. What will you give as our excuse?"

"Water damage here at the old house that we need to look into? I don't know, something boring that he won't question us about later." Nathalie rose to her feet and Gabriel followed her movement. He took both chairs and returned them to their places around the table. Nathalie was just pulling out her own cell phone when she noticed he was standing stiffly with one of the chairs balancing on its back legs beneath his grip. His gaze was turned towards the center of the dining room on the other side of the table, where there remained a formal seating arrangement around the fireplace, and a family portrait of himself, Emilie, and Adrien looming over the rest of the room.

Nathalie smiled faintly at those three beaming faces. She was surprised he'd wanted to leave the portrait there, and not bring it to the new house for Adrien's sake at least, but according to him it had been made at Emilie's request, so he found it best to leave it behind. Gabriel seemed to think of the mansion as Emilie's, despite it being in his name. She knew the place would always carry a lot of memories for him, especially because it remained rather unchanged.

"If you want, you can go up there and start questioning. I don't know how long it's going to take me to get Anaïs off my hands…"

Her voice had trailed gradually into a low murmur as she realized Gabriel wasn't paying attention. He was absolutely rigid, and from her angle, she could see that his skin had gone a little pale.

"Gabriel?"

"Wh...what's that?" he asked.

He wasn't looking at the portrait. Nathalie placed herself right at his side and followed his gaze to the other side of the room. She was struck with confusion when her eyes landed on a pile of debris lying among the seating arrangement near the fireplace. The pieces were uneven and black as though they'd been charred from a fire, but nothing else in the room had sustained any damage that indicated something like that had taken place.

Gabriel approached the mess. He knelt on the ground and reached his fingers out gingerly. "It looks like it may have once been a chair. Didn't there used to be four of them here?"

Both he and Nathalie gasped as he made contact with a piece of the debris, for the moment his fingertip brushed up against what they'd thought to be a solid fragment, the thing crumbled into dust, like black ash falling out of nowhere.

Gabriel leaped to his feet with a jolt. "What on - did _Adrien_ do this?"

"What happened?"

"It's been - cataclysmed," he said. Horror flashed in his eyes like a power surge had run through his body. "Either Adrien really hated this chair," he grumbled, before kicking another fragment and watching it disintegrate, "or the Sorcerer has been spending more time here than we anticipated. They messed around with their potions _in this house_."

Nathalie's spine tingled with cold. "Well," she breathed, forcing her voice to remain level, "that's one thing we can ask them about."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"You're back. Good. Ladybug was about to get started. Where's Mayura?"

Hawkmoth strolled to the center of the room where his son stood waiting for him with folded arms. They were out of earshot of the Sorcerer as long as they kept their voices low. Fastened to a chair by Ladybug's yo-yo, the Sorcerer hung their head and sat in silence. They hadn't resisted when Hawkmoth had previously attempted to remove the mask from their face, allowing him at first to search for a strap, and then merely groaning in discomfort as he tried to pry it off their skin until giving up.

"Getting someone to watch the baby. She'll join us shortly," he answered.

Chat Noir nodded.

"How is Lila?"

"The same." They glanced over to the wall opposite of the Sorcerer. Lila had her back to the rest of the room, knees pulled up to her chest and hands clasped around her ankles. "We'll give it some more time. Maybe if we can get the Sorcerer to talk, she'll follow suit. I admit I'm worried, though. I really don't know what to think of it."

"It's unsettling for sure."

"Even after everything she's done, I can't stand to see her like that. She seems broken."

"If we get some answers, then maybe we can fix it," said Hawkmoth gravely. "We'll just have to keep an eye on her."

Lila seemed to hear them. She tossed her wild green gaze over her shoulder and sharply locked them on Hawkmoth. Through the whirlwind of bewildering emotions he sensed from the girl, he suddenly felt a solid stab of loathing, an indication – though not a very comfortable one – that she wasn't too far gone. But then she turned back around and scooted close enough to the wall that her toes touched it.

Ladybug approached them, transformed with her miraculous back in her possession. Once the Sorcerer had been paralyzed by Queen Wasp, the earrings had been shaken out of their sleeve, and Marinette wasted no time seizing them for herself once more. They'd also found a second fox pendant in addition to the one the Sorcerer had previously tossed onto the floor, and one was assumed to be the duplicate Lila claimed belonged to her grandmother. When Ladybug offered it back to her, however, Lila had shrunk away in fear, screaming that she wanted nothing to do with it, so Ladybug held onto it for the time being.

"I guess we start with the basic questions," Ladybug said to Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. "I don't think we'll get any answers, but if there's anything you can sense from them emotionally –"

"I can't," interrupted Hawkmoth with a shake of his head. "Their emotions are muffled. I won't be able to detect anything very precise."

"Well, try to detect something. I don't have very high hopes otherwise. We've never done something like this before. All I know is that using force wouldn't be a very heroic thing to do."

Hawkmoth assumed Ladybug would have that mindset, but he certainly would have been more willing to try it. He kept his mouth shut, however.

Ladybug blew at her bangs and turned around. Her shoulders squared, she advanced towards the Sorcerer with an effortlessly assumed confidence. Hawkmoth and Chat Noir remained where they stood, but Chat's enhanced hearing would allow him to pick up on any conversation that was carried out under breath.

The Sorcerer didn't move. Their mask was aimed at their lap, and even when Ladybug stepped close enough for her legs to be visible, they chose not to look up.

"Well?" Ladybug prompted, her voice reverberating crisply through the lair. "Do you have an actual name we can call you by?"

"No," was their response, the first word they'd uttered since Queen Wasp freed them from their paralysis.

"I hope you're comfortable with 'Sorcerer', then."

No response.

"I'll cut to the chase." Ladybug lifted the Sorcerer's chin and ran her thumb roughly along the edge of the mask, as if searching for the texture of an adhesive. "Who are you, and what did you want with my miraculous?"

Silence. That their expression was completely obscured was becoming a source of outrage for Hawkmoth, who was already blind to the way they felt.

"With the knowledge you have of magic, you must be aware of what it's capable of, right?" Ladybug said, keeping her voice firm and level, though Hawkmoth could sense her resolve becoming brittle. "You made no effort to steal the black cat miraculous. You seemed content to have only the ladybug. Why is that?"

"I don't need the black cat," they answered.

"If not, then you must only be interested in the ladybug's power, the Lucky Charm."

The Sorcerer shrugged.

Putting her hands on her hips, Ladybug released an exasperated huff of breath that she tried to mask as an expression of pity. Her voice, too, she deliberately made to sound excessively patronizing. "I'd think you could come up with a better lie, since you're talking to the guardian of the miracle box after all, and the holder of the ladybug miraculous for almost four years now. You _know _you can't control what object manifests when you command Lucky Charm, so why would you expect me to believe you need that power – a power you _can't_ dictate to your whim?"

Hawkmoth thought he'd heard a reply, but according to Chat Noir, it was only a low grunt.

"How did you find the box?" asked Ladybug.

"You're going to move on so quickly? Where's your conviction?"

"Here's conviction: _how did you find the box?"_ Ladybug repeated through gritted teeth.

"Luck."

"Of course. How did you find the box, and why didn't you ever try taking my earrings from me directly?"

"Oh, I did. Once, I believe two nights ago. Don't you remember?" the Sorcerer sneered. Their shoulders had been hunched forward, but now they straightened their spine and rolled them back, demonstrating their width. "Fairly certain I woke you up that night. It was a risk."

Ladybug took an involuntary step back. "That was you?"

"Couldn't have been Conspiracy."

"But you –"

"Tiger miraculous potion," said the Sorcerer. "Invisibility powers. Right, _guardian_?"

This wounded Ladybug. She hesitated to respond, and in that stretch of silence, the Sorcerer deflated once more, their head drooping, their shoulders falling forward. They hung so limply that Hawkmoth thought they would have fallen out of the chair if not for the yo-yo string keeping them secure.

Ladybug's voice was meek when she next spoke. She knelt before the Sorcerer, ensuring her face was visible. "Can I ask you about that?"

"You're so polite. Not surprising." The Sorcerer paused. "About what?"

"The guardians. The ones in Tibet. I don't know if you have any connection to them, although to be honest, it's almost a certainty given how much you knew about us, but…"

"You want to know about the guardians?" asked the Sorcerer. Their voice was unusually soft, almost with disbelief.

"If you can spare any information about them. Anything at all. Or, if you know anything in particular about the previous guardian of the box you stole," Ladybug said. Her tone had lost any trace of steeliness she'd possessed when she first approached the Sorcerer. "I knew him as Master Wang Fu."

"The name is…" Sharply, they turned their head away. "Unfamiliar."

Chat Noir widened his eyes at his father and mouthed back their response. _The name is unfamiliar_. Did that mean the Sorcerer _was_ familiar with a number of other guardians? For them to have a connection to the temple was no surprise, but to hear them nearly admit it quickened Hawkmoth's pulse. He and Chat Noir turned their attention back towards the scene.

"I don't know whether to believe you," Ladybug murmured.

"That's the nature of these arrangements, isn't it?"

"Did Master Fu have anything to do with this? Did you learn about us through him?"

Ladybug flinched as the Sorcerer stretched their neck as far as they could manage towards her face. The dark slits in their mask appeared to narrow, though Hawkmoth was sure it was a trick of the light. "Forget the guardians," they told her. "You don't need them."

Springing to her feet, Ladybug glared down into their mask. "You _do_ know them."

"Think what you'd like," they retorted.

"Who are they to you? Were you one of them? Are you still one of them?"

"And why should that matter to you?" the Sorcerer shot back. For the first time since being secured, they struggled under their bindings, shifting the chair beneath them. "I've had enough of this. If you knew what I wanted, you'd see this shit is an overreaction on your part."

"You stole the box!"

"And I gave it back."

"You stole my miraculous," added Ladybug incredulously.

"And I was _going_ to give it back when I was done with it."

"If it was really no big deal, Sorcerer, then why can't you just tell me what you were going to do?"

They whispered something.

"What?" Hawkmoth said to Chat Noir, who narrowed his eyes, straining to make out what was said.

Then, he quoted back, "'I made a promise'."

Ladybug questioned, "To who?"

The Sorcerer refused to speak further to the heroine. She asked a multitude of questions, but received absolutely nothing in response, not even a sigh. After several minutes of trying, she gave up and retreated to the center of the room where her companions waited for her. Chat Noir took her by the arm and asked if she was okay, to which she only gave a weak shrug.

"Perhaps, it's time to escalate," Hawkmoth suggested.

"I don't know, Father…"

"That doesn't feel like the right thing to do."

"I understand that, but," Hawkmoth glanced at the Sorcerer, grip hardening around his cane, "we can't even look at their face. I can't feel their emotions. This isn't going to get anywhere if we only insist on asking them moderately uncomfortable questions. Two years ago, had you myself tied to a chair - ability to disarm me of my miraculous notwithstanding - I'd have refused to speak at all, unless you made me."

Chat Noir looked at the floor, ears folding against his head.

"We could take them to the police," said Ladybug. "They're apprehended, they are without their magic. They are out of the way of potentially harming the city. Perhaps, it would be wise not to overstep."

"And what will the police do? Confirm their identity using what DNA sample, exactly?" challenged Hawkmoth.

"They've told us there's someone else involved. Someone they made a promise to. They're not alone. If this is bigger than us, we'll need help," she reasoned.

"I'm not thrilled with the idea of communicating with law enforcement, Ladybug," Hawkmoth said with a lift to his lip, and her eyes blew wide when it dawned on her what she was asking of him. "Not before I can be certain they won't try to arrest me before cooperating with us about the Sorcerer."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just –" Ladybug ran a hand down her face, "Gosh, I don't know what I was thinking. This is so difficult. I just don't want to hurt them."

"And that's noble of you, but if you ask me –"

"I think I have an idea," Chat Noir interrupted before his father could once again suggest using physical force. He had his right hand curled into a fist against his chest. Hawkmoth caught the faint green blinking of his ring. "I didn't want to try it earlier but…if we're running out of options…"

He approached the Sorcerer before either Hawkmoth or Ladybug could ask after him. The masked foe looked up quickly when they noticed him advancing, seeming immediately more alert than they did when confronted by Ladybug.

"Leave me alone," they grumbled. A single, harsh jerk of their body failed to loosen the bindings.

"I only have one question for you," said Chat Noir. Once he'd come to halt right at their knee, he held his right hand up, palm towards the ceiling. "What would happen if I cataclysmed your mask?" he asked.

The Sorcerer chuckled darkly, shaking their head. "I'm surprised you haven't already. Go ahead, try it."

"Chat Noir…" Ladybug warned, doubt teeming in her gaze.

But her partner ignored her. "Cataclysm," he murmured. Black energy bubbled around his fingers, but the Sorcerer did not wince. Hawkmoth shifted his weight, finding himself reminded of his first encounter with the Sorcerer, whose hand had been surrounded in that identical dark magic before he felt such searing heat through his chest he wondered if he was being killed. He nearly called for his son to stop, but before he could speak, Chat Noir laid his hand across the lower-half of the mask. Hawkmoth's heart jumped in expectation of it falling apart, revealing the face of a stranger beneath it, the stranger who tried to break his miraculous, who paralyzed him, who apparently had broken into his house and played with potions there.

But the mask didn't crack. There was a high-pitched whistle under Chat Noir's palm, and then a loud burst that elicited a shriek from Lila across the room. The Sorcerer cried out, their head firing back, while Chat Noir sprang away and gave a hiss of pain. His wrist went limp as he shook out his hand, reacting as though he'd touched a burning stove.

The Sorcerer groaned. A small black mark, like a streak of soot, was a blemish on a once-perfectly silver mask, but Hawkmoth watched in consternation as it faded away in a matter of seconds. Their chest heaved with pained breaths that eventually evened out. Chat Noir curled his right hand into a fist and cradled it with his left, glaring at the Sorcerer wordlessly.

"It's magic," they mumbled. "You can't cataclysm my mask any more than you can cataclysm Ladybug's – without breaking her nose instead."

"Did I break –?!"

"Luckily, my mask is more robust than your scraps of fabric, which barely conceal your browbone."

Chat Noir's sigh of relief that he hadn't inflicted any long-lasting damage earned him a curious tilt of the Sorcerer's head. Hawkmoth imagined their eyes flicking up and down.

"How sweet of you to be concerned." They didn't sound very touched. A half-minute passed where they attempted to free one of their arms from the yo-yo string, moving their elbow back and forth. It was clear they'd had something on their mind during those tense thirty seconds, for a humorless laugh eventually rippled out of their throat, taking everyone in the room by surprise. Hawkmoth watched Lila fold into a tighter ball out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, the Sorcerer told Chat Noir, "You're too moralistic for your own good."

Chat Noir backed away several paces. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just can't help but _notice_," they spat. "It's so…predictable of you to be worried that you may have broken the bone of your enemy. You probably hold yourself to a high standard and expect everyone else to follow. Well, you might want to change that habit." They shook their head. Chat Noir flinched as they scooted forward in their chair. The scrape of the legs against the metal floor produced a grinding sensation against Hawkmoth's teeth. "You have a tendency to be disappointed in people when they do _exactly_ what you know them to be capable of. Lila could kick a fucking kitten and you'd act shocked."

"Where…" Chat Noir's green gaze sharpened. "Where is this coming from?"

"My bad, I have some peeves. Probably not the best time to be bringing them up." By now, the Sorcerer had raised their voice well above the low rasp they had otherwise been speaking through. Hawkmoth didn't need a miraculous to know they were angry, and as long as he had his ears, he could tell that this anger was not a cool or steady or reasonable emotion. Something in their tone sounded audibly and psychologically discordant.

Chat Noir had no idea how to respond. He held the Sorcerer's stare for a moment longer before leaving them, returning to his father's side with a white face and tightly pressed lips.

"Their disguise is magic," was all he told them.

Ladybug brushed at some of his hair and took his hands in her own. "It was worth a try. But that's something, isn't it? If they created that mask with a spell, then we just need to find a way to break it."

"It won't be easy."

The rumble of the floor beneath Hawkmoth's feet announced the arrival of his wife following Chat Noir's grim statement. Mayura stepped off the lift, her bright pink eyes landing immediately upon the Sorcerer on one end of the lair, and then on Lila on the other, before finally reaching the faces of her family in between them. Mayura unfurled her fan over her mouth as she joined Hawkmoth, Chat Noir, and Ladybug, obscuring a stiff frown behind those soft white feathers. She was carrying the grimoire under her arm as well as a tablet.

"Anaïs is taken care of?" Hawkmoth asked her as she planted herself beside him.

She nodded.

"And Alain doesn't mind, I hope?"

"She's with Ruby and Jacques. I couldn't get ahold of Alain." Mayura tucked a loose strand of indigo hair behind her ear. She nodded at her allies. "So, any luck so far?"

They filled her in on what they'd learned up until then, which was ultimately very little. Mayura was not surprised that the Sorcerer implied a connection to the guardians and appeared more irritated than intrigued about their magical disguise. "That goes beyond what I'd be able to undo with this," she remarked, holding out the grimoire for Ladybug to take.

"Do you think we should see if they recognize this text?" asked the girl.

"You can try."

She did try, but the Sorcerer was unresponsive.

Mayura sighed and turned to her husband, who could not resist adjusting the lace collar wrapped around her slender blue neck. She ran her thumbs across his knuckles as she murmured, "I don't know what this person would have to say to me, but I certainly have a lot I'd like to ask of them."

"You can go ahead. Neither Ladybug for Chat Noir acquired much, but every little bit might lead us to something."

Mayura's first question was, "What were you doing in this house?"

The Sorcerer had ducked their head upon noticing Mayura come near, but now they looked sharply up at her. "What?"

"We saw the destroyed chair in the dining room. Why were you here?"

Hawkmoth felt a surge of alarm fire through him: Chat Noir reacting to Mayura's revelation. He looked at his father with wide, questioning eyes. "Here?" He merely received a silent nod. Hawkmoth was too focused on his wife and his foe to offer an explanation of the discovery now.

The Sorcerer didn't answer the question, however, apart from giving another violent tug at their bindings, which were certainly not coming any looser.

"You were practicing the cataclysm, were you not? You tried it on Hawkmoth's miraculous at the beginning of all of this. Suddenly, though, you don't seem too interested in that. What's are you trying to accomplish? It seems to me like you're playing around, and if there's someone you've made a serious promise to, I wouldn't think you'd be wasting your time like that, unless you actually intended to hurt Hawkmoth." Mayura's voice took on a dangerous rasp. Cool fury smoldered in Hawkmoth's veins, a clear indication of her emotion.

Even more dangerous was the tone of the Sorcerer when they snarled, "No." It seemed they made an effort to stand, for the chair lifted momentarily off the ground before falling back again with a crack. "I never meant to hurt any of you. _I_ am not the _villain _you think I am." The Sorcerer jerked a foot this time. "I do not want to speak to you."

"Unfortunately, I have more questions." Mayura folded her fan and placed the tip of it under the Sorcerer's chin. They turned their head away, only for Mayura to grab their face anyway, by the edge of the mask. They shouted in protest, but they could not shake her off a second time. "Why Lila? You claim to not have wanted to hurt us, yet you recruit the help of someone you know has a bitter history with this group."

"Don't touch me," they growled.

Mayura stiffened her grip, pulling the Sorcerer's head higher. "Answer the question, and I'll let you go."

They said nothing.

"Truly, a compelling case you make for yourself," Mayura sneered. Anger crackled as her patience waned, small bursts of heat in Hawkmoth's chest. He did not disagree with her hostility, but he knew that if Mayura pushed too far, she would regret it later. He stepped forward and called gently to her.

At once, her grasp loosened. The Sorcerer pulled back and freed themselves, releasing a huff of indignation. Mayura did not back away but bent over and leaned her face close to the mask.

"Will you not even tell a fellow sorcerer what spell you performed against Lila to make her the way she is?"

They did not. They pushed the chair back.

Mayura was motionless and silent as well, but within her burned a violent rage, stifled from expanding to the exterior by the awareness of herself she'd acquired once Hawkmoth had reminded her of her fears. His wife was more disposed to respond coolly to difficult situations, but like himself, if her family was threatened she was far more likely to be rash, absent of consideration for how her actions would affect her when she had left the heat of the moment. Mayura wanted to hurt the Sorcerer. Mayura wanted to show them exactly who they had been messing with, but she remembered herself, and she did nothing.

Almost too softly to be heard, Mayura pressed, "Answer."

The Sorcerer refused.

"Please, if you're truly no villain," she murmured – a hand hovered above the Sorcerer's knee, but never found rest – "then I ask that you would be willing to help us by cooperating. Talk to us, and maybe we can help _you_."

There was still too much wrath coursing through Mayura's veins for Hawkmoth to know whether she had any intention of fulfilling that potential agreement. The Sorcerer's continued defiance only incited stronger waves, until Hawkmoth was tasting her anger, a bright and sour flavor that spread through his entire mouth, piercing his tongue and gums with thousands of microscopic needles.

"I know what it is like to not want to be seen as the bad guy. You and I might be more similar than you think."

This made the Sorcerer tense up, but they once again did not respond. Hawkmoth noticed how their head had turned by the slightest angle to face Mayura more directly, thereby recognizing that they may not have even been looking at her at all until that moment. Several heartbeats passed where they and Mayura appeared to be holding each other's stare, before their head turned back. And Hawkmoth realized, it was towards _him_.

Him, who had been the one to stand against the Sorcerer on multiple occasions, not only face-to-face but perhaps through Conspiracy as well.

His feet started to carry him towards them. Mayura's anger in the meantime was warping into distress as the sour taste on his tongue became duller and darker until there was something halfway between sharp wine and burnt coffee in his mouth. She didn't seem to notice him approach, but the Sorcerer's feet tugged at the strings, their head lifted higher.

"Mayura." She didn't react until he reached her side and set his hand on her shoulder. Blazing pink eyes flicked up to meet his, and at once she straightened her spine and faced him eagerly. "Do you mind if I step in?"

Throwing a quick glare over her shoulder, Mayura conceded. "Go on."

She seemed embarrassed by her lack of success, but Hawkmoth gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze as she started to make her way off. Chat Noir and Ladybug were asking her questions, but Hawkmoth could not pay attention to the exchange. He was focused on the Sorcerer now, who watched him very deliberately.

Hawkmoth planted his cane right between the Sorcerer's feet. "How many times have we met?" he asked.

They did not answer at first, and Hawkmoth feared this would be another worthless round of questions, until at last they said, "This would be the fourth, if you are counting the time I had paralyzed you this morning."

"I am."

"It is the fourth."

"The first would be the time you had tried to cataclysm my miraculous?"

"Correct."

"And the second?"

"It was my teleportation potion that brought you home after you had injured your head yesterday."

"You knew who I was even then?"

"I've always known." They inhaled sharply, then said, as if correcting themselves, "You detransformed in front of me."

"You were controlling Conspiracy both times?"

"Yes, to different extents, however."

Hawkmoth was shocked at how easily the Sorcerer answered his questions. They seemed a totally different person sitting before him than they had with Mayura, and even Ladybug and Chat Noir. But he tried not to allow his surprise show through his expression. Hawkmoth maintained a scowl, and he leaned down closer to the Sorcerer's face, who pressed themselves against the back of the chair in response despite not moving their face. "Care to elaborate?"

"Conspiracy was Lila's illusion most of the time. The only instance I had full control over him was during her first _unauthorized _attack," they explained, bitterness seeping into their tone.

"You were the one who warned me about her."

They dipped their head.

"So, why recruit her?"

It was the same question Mayura had asked. The Sorcerer hesitated, as if becoming aware of the difference in the way they were treating their questioners. They did not mind it enough to keep completely silent. "A couple reasons. I needed _something_." Hawkmoth had to lean in closer in order to make out the words. Their voice was so distorted that beneath a certain volume, only a mechanical rumble would register, or nothing at all. "Something to distract you. You were never meant to know me."

"You clearly hate her."

Silence. But something in the Sorcerer's body language affirmed this, whether it was consciously communicated or not.

"You hate her enough to have done something to her."

Behind them, Lila seemed to be slowly coming to her senses. She'd uncurled herself from that tight ball and now sat with her back against the wall. Hawkmoth and the Sorcerer watched her as her gaze briefly landed on them, narrowed to slits and then started darting across the rest of the room.

"What did you do?"

"Something she won't remember in time, if I did it right."

"If? Are you not trained?"

They didn't answer this.

"Was it some kind of memory-wiping spell?"

"Perhaps. You'll be glad for it."

"What did you make her forget?"

"Almost everything I no longer care for her to know about."

"Is she hurt?"

"What does it matter?" Hawkmoth recoiled, for it sounded to him that the Sorcerer's voice had cracked. He couldn't quite tell at first if it was the distortion failing or if they were on the verge of tears, but as they went on to speak, he realized they may have been truly crying. "What you don't understand, what none of you understand, is that everything I've done has been justified."

"And why do you believe that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I can't say. I made a promise."

"So you've said." Hawkmoth paused to look over his enemy, who he'd never carefully observed the appearance of before. Their disguise was so conspicuous that he'd never taken the time to notice the much less obvious details about them, that they were broad-shouldered, possibly muscular, possibly short-haired (their hood had fallen long before, but a skin-tight black bodysuit covered even their scalp). It was difficult to know what was a result of the transformation and what was an authentic attribute. The gloves were a non-magical addition, one of them having been ripped, but other than knowing the Sorcerer was light-skinned, anything else about them was uncertain.

After multiple moments of this quiet observation, Hawkmoth lifted his fingers up to his miraculous, which still communicated the emotions of the people behind him so strongly that they all started to blend together in an almost nauseatingly muddied combination, fighting for dominance right above his heart. Among the tangle of feelings was a lighter, finer thread, the one which created a space for itself but left no substance within it. The Sorcerer.

Hawkmoth lifted his cane off the floor and used the end of it to softly tap the Sorcerer's shoulder. "Why can't I feel your emotions?" he rumbled.

"The same reason Chat Noir can't destroy my mask. To protect me."

"I'm not a mind reader, you know. It's not as though I could know your secrets by knowing how you feel." They stared at him. "Unless it _would_ make a difference?"

An automated noise responded to him.

"What was that? Enunciate," he snapped.

"I can't do this," they repeated, their voice shuddering out. "I can't look at you anymore. I can't look at any of you. I wish you would let me go." They rattled the chair, and screamed, "_Let me go_!"

Hawkmoth steadied the seat and held it down. He was certain he could hear the Sorcerer sobbing now.

"Fucking hell, release me," they snarled. "I can't stay here any longer."

"Calm down," he barked, "before I put you out myself."

They stopped struggling. Ragged breaths, when distorted, sounded a bit like a sputtering engine. "You could have let me go. That would have been the end of it. You'd never have seen me again, you'd never –" They cut themselves off with a frustrated grunt.

"Leave me the earrings." Their voice had gone quiet once again. Hawkmoth was sure that he'd been experiencing a pendulum of emotions had he the ability. Sharp emotional surges were such vibrant sensations to him; he'd have been blinded by this erratic person. "Leave me the earrings. And leave me the box. There's another miraculous I need, that I would not have needed if you'd let me go, if you'd let me – please, I know it's crazy, but you have to help me now."

Hawkmoth scrunched his eyes closed and exhaled heavily to quell his bewilderment. "We can't help you if you can't tell us everything we need to know."

"There's nothing you need to know, nothing, trust me."

"Trust you?" growled Hawkmoth incredulously. "That should be simple."

"You have to."

Hawkmoth's temper flared. "I don't believe you understand exactly what it is you've been doing," he snapped, making the Sorcerer flinch.

"I've –"

"How could we think of letting you go when you have been at the heart of a mission that has sent _my family_ into great distress? I have a son. I have a daughter, a _baby_. I have a wife who has been through more hardship than you could imagine, and when _you _lost sight of your ally, lackey, whatever it is you call her, it hurt her more than I'd care to describe. Never, in a thousand years, would I have dreamed of letting you get away with that."

"I didn't…" they whispered.

"You didn't, what? You didn't know? You didn't think? Imagine having that luxury." Hawkmoth stood back. His knuckles cracked as his grip hardened around the hilt of his cane. "To you I may be nothing else than an obstacle, to you I may be nothing else than a super villain with the audacity to stand in the way of your goal, but you don't know _what _you have been threatening. I am a husband and a father and all I've ever wanted was to keep my family safe and whole. You will not get away with trying to tear it apart, whether or not you meant to. I will not stand to watch them suffer anymore."

The Sorcerer was quiet, apparently stunned, though it was hard to know. Hawkmoth simmered with anger that was his own, and he glared at the Sorcerer as if his eyes could set them aflame.

Then, they cried, "Please go away." They dropped their chin into their chest. "Leave me alone. I can't look at you. I can't hear your voice."

Hawkmoth listened. He'd gotten so much more out of them than he expected to, so without another word, he turned his back and returned to the center of the lair. Rain pelted against the rose window, and his family, all watching him from under its light, were drenched in the shadows of waterdrops.

* * *

"Lucky Charm!"

They'd had to replace the yo-yo with some rope Chat Noir found somewhere in the house. After Hawkmoth had finished questioning, it was suggested that Ladybug command the Lucky Charm, so that she might receive an object that could point them in the right direction. As the yo-yo rewound into Ladybug's fist, a splash of pink light above their heads materialized into a small red and black spotted item that clattered onto the floor at her feet.

"Again," Chat Noir mumbled.

It was a knife. Tightly pressing her lips, Ladybug scooped it up and looked it over in purposeful silence.

"I got this same object earlier this morning," she explained to Hawkmoth and Mayura.

The suggestion came up (though with much reluctance) that the knife could have been symbolic of freeing the Sorcerer from their bindings, that releasing them as they asked was the demand of whatever force it was exactly that communicated through Ladybug's power. However, to everyone's relief, the object must have also been useful long before the Sorcerer was ever tied to a chair, meaning it surely had nothing to do with them being free.

Ladybug attempted to slice through the Sorcerer's cloak. Though the blade did indeed make a tear in a sleeve, the fabric instantly repaired itself, after which Ladybug earned a contemptuous and unnecessary reminder that the disguise was magical and there was nothing they could do to unmask them. Ladybug didn't want to believe it however, and neither did Mayura, who was sitting on the floor with the grimoire by one knee and the tablet by the other, searching for any helpful information.

But it wasn't like any additional explanations had appeared miraculously in the translations. Everything the group needed to solve this problem they must have already possessed. That would have been a reassuring conclusion if they had managed to get any closer to figuring this out.

"Can you think of any potion in the grimoire that may require the use of a knife?" asked Ladybug as she swung the blade around her finger. Mayura shook her head and leaned back against her husband, who had joined her on the floor after a long and weary sigh had trembled out from between her lips. Chat Noir, meanwhile, had approached Lila and sat against the wall a few meters to her left, gently speaking to her every now and then, offering mundane conversation that omitted any acknowledgement of what had been going on with her the last several days. Hawkmoth had sensed the gradual decline in her shock over time, but she remained submerged in this deep and heavy gloom, like a suffocating fog.

"There are a few ingredients among the power-up potions that could theoretically include the use of a knife," Mayura was saying, "But I don't know, it feels too vague. That's a long walk, isn't it, for a Lucky Charm?"

"Well, I've found awfully convoluted ways to use them before." Ladybug remarked, brushing her fingers through her bangs.

Hawkmoth skimmed across the notes Mayura had open on the tablet, the list of ingredients for the seven power-up potions. "Could any of these help?"

"I don't really know how. Unless I could burn the cloak off their body, but that hardly impresses me. I doubt it would work."

"What do all of these even do?" Hawkmoth asked, picking the tablet off the floor. "I understand the fire and the water and the ice just fine, but blood? Spirit?"

"The blood potion sounds a lot more fascinating than it is. It essentially enhances one's sense of their own body, at least when properly consumed by a kwami first, before the transformation," said Mayura. She licked her fingertip and flipped a couple pages in the grimoire until landing on an illustration of a muscular turtle miraculous holder dressed with orange accents around their green suit. "I think it can make one even stronger, faster, etcetera, but there are shapeshifting qualities as well. It allows you to more keenly dictate what your own body is capable of."

Hawkmoth nodded, interested.

"I tried to use it last night," Mayura added weakly. "I don't know how that power would have manifested when disassociated from the kwami. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking at all."

He squeezed her knee. "It's okay," he whispered. Redirecting her attention back to the grimoire, he pointed out the spirit potion. "And what is this supposed to do?"

"I'm not very sure. According to the book, it 'breaks the barriers between worlds.' I've never successfully made it, though. I don't understand the last ingredient."

"What is it?"

"A riddle." Mayura took up the tablet and scrolled down a little. "Every other silly little clue has been solved, but I don't know what's meant by '_you at your most raw_.'"

"I never got it either," Ladybug chimed in. "I had some ideas, but I'd never tested any of them." Her lashes fell over her solemn blue eyes as she glanced down at the floor. "Master Fu had given me one of each potion a long time ago, and I'd never used the spirit, so I'd never bothered to make it myself."

"What were your ideas?" Hawkmoth asked.

"I considered it literally. Raw flesh," Ladybug answered. "But that sounds…a little barbaric for a potion intended to aid superheroes. Otherwise, any sort of DNA sample. Hair, saliva."

Mayura's expression had turned thoughtful. Her lips moved as she whispered under her breath, so low that Hawkmoth could not make it out right beside her. Her stare floated across the room to the Sorcerer, whose head was tilted back towards the ceiling, who hadn't shifted in well over a half hour.

"Hawkmoth," she eventually said, tapping him against the chest, "I need to speak with Nooroo."

He blinked at her in surprise. "Now?"

"I have questions for him. We can go to the atelier if you'd prefer."

Hawkmoth agreed to this, though he was wary of her intentions, especially when she asked for the Lucky Charm as well. Ladybug was visibly reluctant to hand it over, initially closing her fist tighter around the knife's handle and hardening her blue gaze, but Mayura gave her a meaningful nod, and she relinquished the blade.

"Thank you," Mayura said. "Come get us if you need anything."

Once in the atelier, Hawkmoth detransformed and gestured towards his kwami. "Yes, Master?"

Mayura had crossed the room to a hook on the wall, where the Sorcerer's belt had been hung after Hawkmoth had taken it from them. There were no potions left dangling from it, but there was one empty bottle, which Mayura unlatched. "Nooroo," she said, calling the kwami's attention to her.

"Oh, My Lady!" he exclaimed, flying quickly in her direction.

"I have a question for you."

"Anything."

"What is the purpose of the spirit potion?"

Nooroo drooped a little. "Well, remember, I am not aware of how to make it."

"I know that. But what does it do?"

"I've not seen it used very frequently. It's a rather difficult power-up to control," Nooroo began, delicately flapping his wings. "Unlike many of the other potions, it has a bit of a mind of its own. The magic seems capable of seeking out its own purpose, which may not be the intention of the holder. I've seen many try to use it to discover secrets the magic has no interest in revealing. It's like Ladybug's power to that degree, in which it cannot give you what you want, but what it gives instead may be exactly what you need." Nooroo tilted his head and added sheepishly, "Of course, the spirit power is more abstract than the Lucky Charm. Its unpredictability is far less…appreciated. It's magic is far more abused."

With the empty bottle in one hand, Mayura scrolled through her tablet with the thumb of the other, brow furrowed in thought. "Hm, such is the same for somebody who utilizes the power externally? As I have practiced?"

"I wouldn't know, My Lady. I've seen no one before you who has accomplished that."

"Nathalie." Gabriel was at her side, running his fingers down the length of her arm. "Do you think you could control the spirit power to reveal the identity of the Sorcerer?"

"Maybe. The description says its power is to reveal hidden worlds, but that doesn't exactly sound like what Nooroo is telling me."

"It can be, My Lady, but not always. Often, the concept of a hidden world is metaphorical for the way the holder _perceives _the world after discovering what the spirit potion has to show them. The spirit is understood to be the purest form of a person, and truth the purest facet of reality."

"That's exactly what I needed to hear, Nooroo." Mayura's lips twitched into a small but eager smile. Gabriel gazed at her, captivated for a moment by the optimistic glow of her eyes as they continued scanning the tablet. This was the first time he'd seen her undeniably satisfied to be engrossed in the task of sorcery, which he knew, though she'd never explicitly admitted it, had been an aimless burden for so long. She was taking a path now that may directly result in forward motion for everyone, and Gabriel could both see and feel how that excited her, despite a tiredness growing increasingly heavier. "I must try to activate the potion without transforming with a spirit kwami. It's possible I'll have more control over it when the power is disassociated from Duusu, so I can interact with it immediately."

"Do you think this will work?" asked Nooroo.

"It's a plan. Of course, we'll have to come up with something else if it falls through. All we know for sure is that _this_ will somehow be involved." She gestured to the knife she'd laid on the desk. "And I have to work with what I have. I'm not as knowledgeable as the Sorcerer. They've received all their information from greater sources than mine. This is all I have to work with, so I'll use it." She turned towards her husband. "The ingredients call for boiling water, a ground flower bud, and wax."

It took some time, but they managed to acquire those things. The potion looked like nothing so far, but Mayura had yet to add the most confounding ingredient. She grabbed the knife and told him, "Please do not be upset with me."

"Nathalie…"

"'You at your most raw'. I know Ladybug didn't like the sound of it, but I think she may have been right. What is rawer than blood?" She shook her head, knowing he would fight her. "Quite honestly, I wouldn't have thought of it myself. I feel like it should have been obvious, but I'd never even considered it. After all, there's a blood potion that does not even require blood to create it. Why should I have expected that blood would be needed for the spirit potion? All I ask right now," she finished with a sigh, "Is that you trust me here, love, okay?"

Gabriel brushed his fingers along the back of her bandaged hand. "You know I trust you, my dear, more than anybody. But you've injured yourself enough in the last twelve hours, don't you think? We should try something else first."

"Do you have any ideas?"

He didn't. He reached for the knife, "Let me."

"I'm sorry, but you're not the one using the potion, and may I remind you the instructions read '_you_'. Dear reader. Me."

"Nooroo, say something to change her mind," Gabriel ordered his kwami.

"Master, forgive me, but I think she's right. Otherwise I would suggest a way to manifest her own spirit, but the guardians have said before that every drop of human blood contains a breath of soul."

"I'll be gentle. I promise."

Gabriel stood back. Mayura smiled apologetically before holding the knife right at the tip of her finger. She counted to three under her breath and made the slightest lash of the blade with a sharp inhale. It was no deep cut, just enough to press out a pearl of blood, bright against the blue of her skin. She let the drop roll off her fingertip into the mixture, and Gabriel held his breath as he waited for a reaction.

_Please. Come on. _

And it changed. The contents of the bottle turned a sparkling light pink. Mayura wrapped her fingertip in a tissue and met Gabriel's gaze with her own eyes bright with triumph, nearly matching the color of the potion.

"That looks right to me My Lady," said Nooroo, fluttering his wings with excitement.

"Do you think it will work?" she asked her husband.

"You have seemed confident, my dear, and I trust your instinct," he replied.

Mayura allowed him to tape a piece of the tissue around her fingertip. They thanked Nooroo for his insight, and Gabriel became Hawkmoth once more. They emerged into the lair to be greeted by Ladybug, whose eyes locked onto the potion with a look of pleasant surprise.

"Will that help us?" she asked.

"We hope."

Chat Noir rose from his position at Lila's side to join them in the middle of the lair. The girl's haunted visage went stony as her eyes flitted up from the floor to land on Hawkmoth. Her emotions were becoming clearer now, and Hawkmoth had to wonder what it was exactly the Sorcerer made her forget, for he was certain that Lila still deeply despised him. She made the smallest movement towards him, one leg extending by an inch out from under her, five fingers fanning themselves across the floor in his direction, two eyes narrowing into shrewd olive green slits, but Lila paused then. She seemed to remember the Sorcerer's presence, head whirling towards them. Fear flashed across her face before she threw herself back against the wall, glazing over once again.

Hawkmoth rolled his shoulders back, trying to shrug the chill out of his bones.

"Aren't you going to have Duusu take the potion?" Chat Noir asked Mayura.

"No. I might have better control over it if I work with it externally." She nodded at her step-son and husband. "Bring them a little further away from the wall. I may need space."

The Sorcerer became alert again once Chat Noir and Hawkmoth started to drag their chair forward. They struggled under the ropes, voice distortion clicking with the sounds of their sharp breathing.

"Wait," they said, "What are you doing? Stop!"

"This will be the end of your mission," Ladybug told them, twirling her yo-yo. "You can't hide behind that mask any longer."

The Sorcerer jerked as if they were trying to jump out of their skin. "No – don't! I-I made a promise."

"Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about that," grunted Hawkmoth.

They set the chair down and Mayura stepped forward, the bottle uncapped in her hand. "I will have to be deliberate about this if I am to control which barrier I break today," she murmured. To the Sorcerer, whose ropes Chat Noir was currently tightening, she said, "You seem awfully panicked. I am sure you know more about what the spirit potion is capable of than I do."

"Pl-lease, please don't," they stammered breathlessly. "Let me go. Let me fucking…" Their words became unintelligible. Hawkmoth was baffled at this behavior, after having witnessed the way they carried themselves around Lila, the way they communicated with him through the illusion of Conspiracy. The Sorcerer had seemed to him a powerful person, in control of themselves and others, an intimidating but level-headed leader –

Yet across the room, Lila watched the ordeal with panic blanching her face. Her nose was bruised as well as her browbone. One eye was swollen half-shut and a welt had formed where she had been violently slapped earlier that morning. Lila was not a person of a very sound temper, but the Sorcerer could not have been any sounder to have inflicted such hurt on the girl. Maybe they were unmasking a monster today. The prospect of revealing the flesh and eyes of a human being confused his expectations. He knew he must have been seen as a monster once. He surely couldn't draw the lines in the dirt himself. Two years ago, Hawkmoth appeared a maniacal, power-hungry brute, while under the mask he was Gabriel, a desperate and grieving husband. He asked himself now if the latter really was the only truth or if both could be true at once, if they could have always been true.

Mayura poured half of the bottle over the Sorcerer's mask. Bright pink potion soaked the silver and dripped into the fabric of their heavy cloak. With a deep breath, Mayura asked Chat Noir and Hawkmoth to stand aside as she held the remaining contents above her open palm.

_This will work_, Hawkmoth thought, as if convincing himself would will the universe in the same direction. _This will work._

"Okay," Mayura whispered. She poured the remains of the bottle into her palm. Upon making contact with her skin, the potion flared. Bright light – mostly pink at first, but soon taking on shades of blue, green, yellow, and violet – beamed around her hand, softer and cooler and stiller than fire but somehow more incredible. Mayura's eyes gleamed. Her whole body gleamed, until her movements threw dancing lights across the lair's dark walls.

Mayura steadied her breath, for the display had startled even her at first. As the light came under a tighter control, she closed the distance between herself and the Sorcerer. They roared in desperation as she set her hand upon their mask.

"_Let me see_," Mayura commanded. Her voice hummed as though dozens more joined it, speaking from somewhere far away.

The light caught on the potion still trailing down the mask, but seconds passed, and nothing fell apart. Hawkmoth stiffened in horror as he noticed that it was not the mask that was changing, but the ropes. As if they'd been made of candle wax, they started the melt, dripping onto the floor and into the Sorcerer's lap, who seemed ready at any moment to leap out of the chair.

"No," Mayura grumbled. She reached for a rope that liquified in her hand. "The magic wants to release them."

The Sorcerer's arms were free. They shoved Mayura away, but she recovered gracefully and lunged back again. Hawkmoth wrapped his hands around the Sorcerer's shoulders and held them against his chest while they yelled for him to let go. The chair toppled over with a rough clatter in a pool of liquid rope that was now evaporating into the humid air. Mayura set her fingers back on the mask, her face contorted with fierce concentration.

The magic surrounding her hands flickered like a silent stroke of lightning. Mayura's ponytail lifted off her back, her sleeves waved as if she stood in the way of the wind.

"_Let me see!_" she repeated.

Her fingers trembled like a shock had moved through her. Pink light fired out from around her hand and encompassed the Sorcerer entirely. White lines drew themselves across their mask in a jagged pattern. Hawkmoth let them go as their body shuddered, and once he got a look at their face, he saw that the black slits in their face had brightened.

And then, Mayura tore back her hand. The pink light pulled away, as if retreating back into Mayura's form, where it illuminated her for a moment longer and finally died. Her eyes returned to their usual magenta shade. The shadows in the room deepened, and no light source flooded the room any longer but the rose window, which had darkened and darkened as the storm outside had grown gloomier.

The mask cracked apart. The Sorcerer threw themselves down on the floor with a horrified gasp. Pieces of silver burst down at Mayura's feet while the cloak melted into violet light and disappeared.

What remained was a person burying their face in their arms, black hair, chopped messily to shoulder-length, spilling in the way of their cheeks. Mayura and Hawkmoth each grasped a shoulder and pulled the unmasked Sorcerer off the floor while they grunted madly in protest. Hawkmoth pinned them up to the wall and took their chin in his fingers, glowering for the first time into the face of his mysterious enemy.

At once, he reeled in shock. His jaw fell open. Electricity crackled across his scalp.

The person staring back at him was his wife.

It couldn't be.

It wasn't.

No, it wasn't his wife. Not quite. Despite the expression of dread and rage twisting their features, Hawkmoth found himself keenly reminded of that picture hanging above the staircase, the one of Nathalie at twenty years old, gazing with that hint of surprise into the camera lens. That nose, that heart-shaped face, that tone of skin almost perfectly matched the countenance in the photo. Even the hair remanded him of Nathalie. Though she'd dyed it blue at the time, its length and texture matched the raven strands of hair framing the pale, perspiring face of the person struggling under his arms now.

But those _eyes_.

Those blue-gray eyes, flickering as though lightning blazed through them, as though they were two twin storm clouds.

He could have been looking in a mirror and seen those eyes staring back at him.

Mayura's realization came a split second before his. She stumbled back, taking her hands immediately off the young woman's shoulder. Her blue skin paled by several shades. Hawkmoth felt her shock. And then he wasn't sure whose shock it was he was feeling anymore, because everything he sensed from her now catapulted him into his own earth-shattering recognition.

He could feel the woman too. Her ice-cold terror and her white-hot rage and her stark silver grief.

Hawkmoth dropped her, and she slid down the wall with a pained cry.

Mayura's voice was a shiver in the shape of a name.

"Anaïs?"


	18. Interlude II

Interlude II

Chrysalis noticed how her akuma's hand stalled, as if she had forgotten her action in the middle of performing it. A stern look from her master induced the remainder of the interaction. The akuma apologized, twitching her thumb, and the earrings and ring were dropped into Chrysalis's palm.

"Reaper," she commanded, closing her fist around the jewelry. "Find _him_. Bring him to me. Now." She spoke as if she was begging for something vital, like air.

The akuma flinched. Chrysalis pinched her eyes narrow and barked the command again, cracking her heel against the floor. Reaper turned around and outstretched her fingers to create a wide hole in space that glowed with a deep violet light. She vanished through the portal and left Chrysalis behind, as well as the fallen heroes lying brokenly elsewhere in the room. One of them was calling out for her to stop, but he was ignored.

Chrysalis glared at him, locking his bright green gaze as she slowly slipped his miraculous on her finger, her left ring finger to be precise, like it was her wedding band. The kwami that manifested the next moment did not hesitate to make his rage quite known, but Chrysalis silenced him with a swing of her cane that just barely clipped his ears as he made the move to dodge.

"That power can't satisfy you," said the hero. He attempted to rise to his feet, but Reaper's final attack had left him and his partner greatly weakened. Even his words struggled past his throat despite the blaze of anger and fear in his eyes. "It isn't designed to."

"What makes you think," snarled Chrysalis as she pushed the ladybug miraculous through her earlobes, "That after a decade of war, you could dissuade me with your empty reasoning?"

His jaw set, perhaps in pain, perhaps in indignation. Chrysalis had the capacity to know, but she simply didn't care. "The wish will ensure you lose what you gain."

"Reaper should have killed you," Chrysalis spat. The ladybug kwami shimmered into existence, expression twisted in disgust, but unlike the black cat, she chose not to speak. "That'd have put us both out of our misery a lot sooner, but I suppose I need to have patience, don't I? I want to savor this. Your time will come soon enough."

He did not engage with her further. He turned his head towards his partner, who lay unconscious but breathing several meters away. Chrysalis stepped back as he started crawling towards her, gently calling her name, as if afraid she wouldn't wake.

But she'd wake. And then she'd be Chrysalis's to put to sleep. For good.

The kwamis trailed behind her every step. Chrysalis felt their eyes like nails at the back of her scalp. Pausing at the window overlooking the brightly lit city, a sigh trembled between her lips. She was tired and electrified at once; she was furious and triumphant; she was grieving and celebrating. She didn't know what else she could have expected after such an exhausting pursuit as this one.

Ten years. Ten long, tedious, carefully calculated years. Chrysalis had hoped that this power would fall into her hands much sooner than now. Perhaps, it would have, had she been a lot less clever. Chrysalis could count the number of akumas she had created on each one of her fingers with none to spare. She'd refused to be like her predecessor. As desperate as she was, desperation was unbecoming. It was disorganized and precarious, and she'd have suffered a lot more losses had she allowed her desperation to show through more than those two robust palmfuls of blackened butterfly wings. Chrysalis was unlike every other super villain that had ever plagued this disappointing, pathetic city. She was slow and deliberate and she knew how to wait and listen for only the best, strongest, most devastating opportunities. Chrysalis was unpredictable. Chrysalis was lethal. And now Chrysalis was victorious.

Ten years had paid off.

Even more savory was the way she had won. Nine other powerful akumas had come close to triumph, but it was only fitting that the one who succeeded was the one who knew her heroes' weaknesses. Chrysalis had not expected an opportunity like this to arise, when she would have the opening to transform one of Paris's beloved defenders into her own impressive creation. Black Witch had been a relentless opponent since she joined her teammates four years prior, having abilities no other superhero had been known to have, but one fateful, devastating day had left her vulnerable to the very power she'd fought so hard against. She'd tried so nobly to thwart the influence of her master, but Chrysalis did not pride herself on her irresistibility for no reason. So, Black Witch had become Reaper, a harvester of energy, and unstoppable magical force.

Chrysalis spread her hands over the window sill and admired the warmth of her bronze skin under the metallic glow of her ring. The power of the newly-acquired miraculous shivered through her body like an electric current. A rattling in her bones and a heat in her blood filled her with such an unusual but invigorating sensation. She'd never felt more alive than she felt now. She teemed with heat and energy that begged to be released. In the reflection of the dark window, Chrysalis met her own gaze and watched the twist of her painted lips into a hungry grin.

"One by one," she murmured under her breath, "I will watch my enemies fall." She would wipe them all away and when none of them remained, she'd have the rest of this city to reign, and the rest of her life to test her outreach. With this great power at her fingertips, nothing could stop her.

"I would exercise caution." Chrysalis's eyes darted to the red kwami hovering in the reflection behind her shoulder. With crossed arms and a heavy scowl, the small creature clearly could not have cared to mask her disdain for her new master. "The power in your hands is incredible and _dangerous_. You may not be pleased with the outcome."

"It's expected of you to attempt to deter me after so many years being attached to the hip of your previous holder," replied Chrysalis through clenched teeth. "But you could at least try harder than that."

"Your refusal to listen to transparent reasoning will be your downfall," the kwami told her plainly.

Fuming, Chrysalis drew the rapier halfway out of its sheath and whirled around. Both kwamis drew back, the black one clinging to the red. "Tell me your names," she commanded, "And then be silent."

"Tikki."

"Plagg."

They shut their mouths.

Chrysalis's heart leaped when a new hole in space stretched open before her eyes. Reaper emerged, dragging _him_ behind her. As the portal closed, she threw him down on the floor before her master and stepped back. A mask concealed her expression, but her fingers curled into tight fists that visibly shook.

He coughed, rubbing a spot on his chest where Reaper had perhaps struck him while attempting to bring him here. Then, he lifted his eyes to the face of the woman glaring coldly down at him.

"Gabriel Agreste," she snarled.

"You'll regret this." His voice was hoarse and he spoke through his teeth. "You'll pay."

"Will I? But you are the one in debt." She ripped out her sword and placed its point under his chin, raising it higher until his gray eyes caught the shine of the light overhead. "I've been waiting for this day."

He squinted at her. His glasses were gone and his eyesight was poor, but anyone could have made out the layers of mauve satin spilling around her legs and the blur of a black mask framing her murderous glower. And her voice of course, like sickly sweet poison honey, was unmistakable.

"It was you," he grumbled.

"Your lack of shock is touching," she spat, pressing the tip of the sword harder. He sucked in air through his teeth as she broke the skin. "Perhaps it saves me the trouble of giving you any explanation. Why should you even have the satisfaction?"

She kicked him in the face. Across the room, his son cried out and attempted to scramble to his feet, but Reaper stopped him, creating a forcefield that he collided against. His partner, now conscious, reached for his arm and pulled him back down to the floor in her arms. Adrien pounded his fist against the barrier. He begged Reaper to drop it.

"Don't do this!" he shouted, voice muffled by the wall.

Blood pumped between Gabriel Agreste's fingers as he brought them up to his nose.

"Consider yourself lucky," Chrysalis told him, her heels clicking against the floor as she took a few additional steps his way. "I may have wished you dead twice had I not found out what I found out today. Imagine, after almost twenty years, discovering that two of your worst enemies were one and the same all along." Her eyes flicked towards Adrien and Marinette. "It happened threefold, actually. Oh, but they? They came as no surprise. You, however...there's something so despicable about a reclusive, bitter old man using a girl like me to his own advantage in every corner of his depressing life. Look at me now, at the potential you wasted."

She drove the heel of her shoe into the hand he'd splayed against the ground, making him yelp.

"How you ended up so beloved by your family, I'll never understand," she went on, "But very well, I'll gladly make them watch. It's a shame you won't make the audience to their own bitter ends. I'm sure they will miss you."

Gabriel stretched his eyes wide in horror. "Don't…"

Adrien scratched at the forcefield. He kept trying to appeal to Reaper, who didn't seem like she was listening. Her attention was focused on Chrysalis and Gabriel. Then, Adrien called for Plagg, who was compelled by Chrysalis to ignore him.

Chrysalis put away her rapier. "It'd work just as well to use this, but I think the miraculous makes this feel a lot more permanent, don't you?"

Tossing the cane aside, she looked between her kwamis, who both failed to return the eager glances. She finally uttered the words that she had been waiting a decade to say, and when they came, they came a whisper.

"Tikki, Plagg, unify."

Chrysalis was blinded by light that poured out from her miraculous. A rush of power washed up and down her body, fashioning a new transformation, a new her. And in that moment, Chrysalis could not imagine herself being anybody else.

It seemed that even when she shut her eyes, she could see flashes of color dancing behind her lids. She felt weightless, as if she was made of air; perhaps her feet had lifted off the floor. She was floating. She was floating above all the world and could see every little thing beneath her, small and brittle enough to crush under the tip of her finger. She could blow a long, slow breath through puckered lips and make it spin faster on its axis til it was twirling past the sun. She could pop it like a balloon and make a new world out of a ball of claw rolled between her palms. She was light and sound and space and matter. She owned it all. She could do what she wanted with it. Anything. Everything.

She regained a sense of her own body as her left hand clenched and she felt the pierce of her fingernails into her own skin. The ring felt hot and cold at the same time, like it could burn through flesh and freeze her blood. The earrings, meanwhile, felt as though they were shooting a metal rod through her skull. There was half a second when Chrysalis might have ripped the miraculous off her body had she the capacity to voluntarily move, but she reminded herself of her goal. She was too hungry, too eager for a satiating, long-deserved revenge.

When her vision cleared, the first person she laid eyes on was her akuma. Reaper stood rigily, her head twisting back and forth between Gabriel and her master. No longer could Chrysalis feel her emotions, as the butterfly's power was drowned under the sheer magnitude of her new transformation.

She couldn't care for long. Her first victim lay waiting for his punishment. The blood on his face seemed to glow against the shock of his stark white skin: a look of unadulterated fear and regret.

But then, he turned towards his son and the partner clinging to him. He turned towards Reaper, who upon meeting his gaze, fumbled her perfect posture. His terror mellowed, a storm softening into a slow rain.

Over the surge of the magic around her body, Chrysalis could hardly hear him tell them:

"It's not your fault."

Anger snapped within Chrysalis like a fire churning through wood to leave nothing behind.

Her patience and persistence would be rewarded now. Chrysalis's arms seemed to move on their own accord, reaching out in his direction. Bright white light beamed around her hands and obscured him in their brilliant glow. In the way of her power he vanished, and it brought a smile to her lips, that she outshone him. That she outshone everything around her. That she could be the one to realign all the blazing celestial bodies in the sky.

The seconds wound down. This was like listening to the whistle of a firework before it burst, holding one's breath during that heartbeat of silence before the explosion.

And then, moments before she made her wish, the edges of her vision brimmed with the color purple. The butterfly visor flickered around her face, just enough for her to hear the voice of her akuma at the back of her roaring mind.

_Please, stop_.

Chrysalis had no care for the woes of that girl. She let the connection drop into the whirlwind of power circulating through her body.

But it resurfaced.

_Stop. Don't hurt him_. Desperate and horrified.

Chrysalis felt her countenance descend into a severe scowl. In fury, she wrapped her own consciousness around that of Reaper and swallowed it. The akuma collapsed to her knees in shock, the forcefield dropping between herself and the fallen heroes. It didn't matter to Chrysalis. It was too late for any of them.

She made her wish deep in her soul. It trembled out from her center of gravity, and she couldn't tell, but it may have rushed through all the universe in a matter of seconds. It may have toppled mountains and emptied oceans. It may have created a billion supernovas in the black sky that night. All Chrysalis knew for sure was that he was dying. She'd always imagined it being painful, slow enough to sink into the distorted sense of an eternity waiting for relief, swift enough that all those watching would not have the chance to feel anything but helpless and futile. She could have heard him screaming, but it may have been her own abundant laughter, full and wild and _relieved._

Years of anger, healed.

Chrysalis felt her own feet touch the floor, and then her knees, and then her hands. She laughed still, though the light around her was fading, retreating back into the miraculous. Her long auburn hair had come loose from its bun and dangled towards the floor where she stared, almost too nervous to glance up and see what she had changed.

But she did look.

And he was indeed dead.

Gabriel Agreste lay motionless on the floor, half pulled into his son's lap, his eyes open and clouded with the absence of life. Chrysalis's only regret was that she was too blinded by the effulgence of her own power to see that very moment his soul was ripped out of his body. Adrien's partner and wife, Marinette had her hand clasped around Gabriel's, whose fingers were limp and still wet with blood.

"Father, Father, _Dad_!" Adrien cried, his voice raw. Marinette pressed her face into his shoulder, tears dripping from her eyelashes.

Gabriel's head hung.

"Don't worry."

They looked to Chrysalis, eyes too bright with anguish to let their anger seep through.

"You won't miss him for long."

She rose back to her feet, finding that her transformation had dropped as the wish came to completion. The kwamis hung tiredly in the air, both betraying their horror, but Plagg especially looked terribly stricken; she only wondered how he'd seem once she'd taken the life of his dear holder as well. Her only question was who she'd wish away next as her eyes darted between the couple curled up on the floor.

"Tikki, Plagg," she growled, ignoring the sway in her own balance, "Unify."

Nothing happened. They only stared at her.

"_Unify_!" she commanded, having half the mind to wrap her fist around their puny bodies and crush them.

"Ten years you've had that miraculous," Tikki murmured bitterly, "And Nooroo never did tell you about the power you've been chasing with it?"

A terrible dread plummeted into Chrysalis's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"The ladybug and black cat miraculous can only be used simultaneously _once_ by an individual holder," replied the kwami, her sapphire eyes blazing.

Chrysalis's blood turned to ice.

"And you should be _very_ grateful for that," barked Plagg with a violent rasp. "You could probably not survive two wishes. It's a travesty you survived the first!"

Chrysalis stumbled back. She pinched her earrings. She shook her head and disbelief. "You are lying!" she shouted. "Lying! I command you to tell me the truth!"

"We have," they said in unison, compelled by her order.

"No, _no_." The world tilted back and forth around her. She staggered all the way back towards the window, she grabbed the sill to keep herself from falling. A primal scream split through the air.

"Maybe it's not too late." The words were Marinette's, a gentle whisper into her husband's ear, who clutched Gabriel to his chest. She ran her fingers down his jaw in comfort, wiping away the tears that had trailed down his cheeks. "Maybe we can fix this."

Chrysalis would throw herself out of the top floor of this building before she'd let that hope of theirs last another second.

"Plagg, claws out." As the black cat transformation streamed down her body, she tore the ladybug miraculous out of her ears and held them in the palm of her left hand.

"Chrysalis!" Marinette cried. She leaped to her feet, fingers digging into her husband's shoulder. "Lila, wait-!"

"_Fuck_ that," she snapped. "He took everything from me and _you_ are not going to take it back!"

"Don't!"

"Cataclysm!" roared Chrysalis. The command came so quickly and desperately that it was nearly incoherent, but the magic didn't mind. The ring erupted into darkness.

"No!" screamed Adrien.

She closed her fist and ground the earrings away. They slipped out from between her fingers like sand.

Over her shoulder, Tikki blinked out of existence. Like a mirage, like shapeless, weightless nothing.

Just as they all deserved to be.

"God," Marinette choked. She slumped back down on the floor. "No…"

Chrysalis slid against the wall. She tilted her head back, shutting her eyes as a pair of tears broke free. Vibrant colors were stained into the darkness, remnants of the power that had been unjustly robbed from her, of the vengeance she had yet to take against the rest of these wretched people.

"He's gone," she muttered. "He's gone, and there's nothing you can do. You won't take this from me."

She could still have the rest of her victory. It wasn't too late. It wasn't too late for her...

Something fluttered in her head. Something bright and white-hot. Something that made Chrysalis grit her teeth and sink her fingers into her temples. Reaper's consciousness reemerged in a surge of violent, devastating emotion. She knelt across the room, her hood having fallen off her head, her masked face aimed in the direction of Gabriel's lifeless body and the man holding him.

"D-dad?" she stammered.

"Baby Girl," Adrien whispered, shaking his head at her. "Are you here with us?"

She inched towards them. "Where have I been? Dad? Where have I been?" A heavy sob burst free. She noticed the drag of the cloak around her legs, and looked down at herself. She examined her arms and her boots, and she raised her hands up to her face and felt that it wore a mask. She gasped, "Dad, help me."

"Anaïs. I am so sorry," Marinette wept.

Chrysalis set one hand over the butterfly miraculous still pinned to her chest and held out the other towards her akuma. "Quiet!" she screamed. Reaper shuddered, struggling against the invisible force of her master's will, but that only made her rage bloom even further through Chrysalis's mind. She couldn't afford to lose the akuma anymore, not now that the dual miraculous power had slipped through her fingers. With the black cat ring still on her finger, she had other ways to finish her revenge, but the tempestuous emotions churning through Reaper needed to be brought under control. The purple visor flashed around her hidden eyes, in the same split second that her body went stiff as if falling out of her mind's command. She went straight as a log, blank as a mannequin as Chrysalis forced her will over her akuma's.

_You're going to die_.

The vow read clear at the forefront of Chrysalis's thoughts, in a deep, authoritative voice that spoke as if its word was law. The visor flickered around Reaper's face, solidified and cast violet light unto the mask, only for everything to go unbearably, precariously still, as if time itself had paused.

_I'm going to kill you_.

The visor burst apart as an anguished shriek pierced the air, and Chrysalis veered, yanked forward by the sheer force of her akuma breaking free of her. She watched in dismay as a black-winged butterfly fluttered out of the mask. It slipped at once off Reaper's face and cracked on the floor, revealing a pair of silvery-blue eyes locked on Chrysalis, burning with a wrath unlike she had ever felt but in her own tormented heart. An unendurable heat seared her flesh and bone; an incredible hatred lanced through her chest, struck her spine, sending waves of sharp, scorching pain across every nerve. Chrysalis's vision flickered. She needed to get up. Now.

Those eyes. They were like one of the several pairs that had haunted her at night for years. They were brilliant and pained and they wanted Chrysalis dead.

I'm going to kill you.

Her cane laid on the floor maybe seven meters away.

She started towards it.

"Ana-!"

The sound of exploding glass was followed by a flare of white light out of the corner of Chrysalis's eye. And then another, right in front of her.

Right over the cane.

Anaïs appeared out of the Voyage portal and swept the sword into her grasp. She tossed the sheath aside, reached out, and closed her fist Chrysalis's wrist before she could back away.

"Catacl-"

Anaïs broke her finger with a single harsh jerk. She showed her pearl white teeth between lips curled back into an animalistic snarl. She tore the ring off and tossed it behind her, minding not wear it landed.

Chrysalis's eyes went wide. Her knees buckled.

"Anaïs!" cried Adrien.

"No, I'm sorry!"

The plea ended in a gurgled mumble. Anaïs had swung the sword. Right across Chrysalis's throat.

There was a gasp like a gunshot.

Her hands were warm and wet. It felt…

Funny. Like a weird dream.

She dropped into a pool of blood she watched expand before her eyes. Her head went light. Her vision went dark.

"Dad…" she heard. Who was that? Who said that?

She met the dead gaze of Gabriel Agreste across from her and thought about being made of air.

* * *

"You cut your hair."

"Just a little bit."

"When did you do that?"

"A few weeks ago."

"It's nice."

She gave a little nod, keeping her eyes fixed forward. A leather jacket was bunched in her lap, and she started to wring it through her hands as they drove. He'd pulled up to her house eight minutes later than he said he'd arrive - the kids had distracted him at some point - but she took an additional fifteen to finally step outside into the sunny October afternoon. He wasn't sure what had held her up. She used to wear full faces of makeup, but she was barefaced today; she used to curl her hair, but it had been brushed straight; she used to wear high heels, for she loved being absurdly tall, but she'd shoved on a pair of sneakers and only realized the laces were still untied five minutes into the drive. She placed her feet on the dash and fixed that. When she was a lot younger, she would stick her tongue out of the corner of her mouth to tie shoes. And when she was playing video games. And when she was doing math.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"A little."

"You've been eating, right?"

This earned him a glare. Though he had his eyes on the road ahead of them, he could feel the heat of her stare on his temple. "Yes."

"Has Nathalie?"

There was a pause. "Most days."

"Let me know when she doesn't, okay? I want to be aware." Adrien switched on the bluetooth, expecting her to play some music, but she never reached for her phone. She clutched the jacket like a pillow to her stomach and looked out the window in silence. They did not speak to each other for the remainder of the drive. Adrien nearly missed a turn as he sat there thinking about how much had changed in the last year.

He asked, more formally, how she was doing once they had arrived at the restaurant and been seated at their private table. Anaïs gave him this sharp look as if to say, "You already know." Awful. She's been doing awful for a long time now. They didn't need to go into details, and they probably wouldn't, but Adrien wanted to know. This was the first time he was seeing Ana for longer than a few minutes since her eighteenth birthday. He watched her walk across the stage at her lycée graduation, he exchanged brief words with her when he and Marinette dropped their children off with Nathalie on a couple occasions during the summer, and he saw her on his birthday last month, when he stopped by to visit her and Nathalie and invite them to dinner, but they both refused, claiming not to be hungry. Nathalie, at least, sat with him for a while to chat, but Ana had gone up the stairs and shut herself in her room.

He didn't see her on the anniversary either. He hadn't even spoken to her. Both he and Marinette had attempted calling her phone, but she didn't pick up or return their messages. They visited the gravesite alone and let the kids place the flowers.

It took weeks of persistent - nearly daily - inquiries to get her to join him for lunch. She must have gotten tired of turning him down.

Adrien blew on his soup and asked her what she was going to spend her gap year doing.

Anaïs chewed slowly on a piece of bread and swallowed. She answered, "Thinking."

"Thinking?"

"I have a lot to think about."

He pondered what she meant by this. The pointed glimmer in her eyes concerned him. She reminded him a lot of their father right now. She's reminded him a lot of their father for the last year. It was quite eerie, actually. The terse acknowledgements of his presence, the numerous excuses to avoid seeing him, even the way Nathalie had to be the bridge between them, telling him "Your sister's in her room", "Your sister doesn't want visitors", "I'm sorry." Adrien was thirty-six but he felt like a teenager some days, thrown deep into a past where things had yet to get better. When they did, he really thought it'd have been forever. He was devastated to be wrong.

"Have you been working a lot?" he asked her, deciding not to question what it was exactly she was thinking about.

"Yeah," she replied with a dip of her head. This pleased him.

"On what mostly? Sewing, painting?"

"Writing music. A little bit of everything," she said. Sheepishly, she added, "I haven't finished anything in a long time."

"That's okay. I'm just glad to hear you've been at least a little busy."

"I get distracted," she told him. Her eyes flicked up from her hands to his face, and Adrien felt a chill pass through him. Her tone, her stare, there was something incredibly incisive about them. Adrien found himself watching her, inviting her with wide eyes to explain herself.

But her lashes fell. She sunk into her chair. The moment passed.

Anaïs didn't speak much through the rest of the meal, so Adrien filled the silence by talking about his children. His eldest, Emma, was ten and loved school. She'd struggled with reading comprehension when she was younger, and Ana used to help her when she babysat. They'd been close for a long time. Now, Emma asked her parents when she'd be able to spend time with her young aunt again, and they'd always have to tell her they didn't know. Even their twin sons, both seven, who'd never been as attached to Ana were asking about her. Adrien didn't mention this, though. He only told Ana that they had recently begun fencing lessons, and now they ran through the house with toy swords, dangerously close to knocking over vases and lamps.

"How's Marinette?"

"She's well. They're opening a new boutique of hers in London next year."

"No, I mean," Anaïs set down her water glass and leaned over the table. "How _is_ Marinette?"

Adrien narrowed his eyes. "She's fine, Ana."

"She's not still...angry?"

The waiter walked by, and Adrien immediately launched into a story about Emma losing her hamster in her bedroom for two hours. Anaïs sat through it with a tight expression, her jaw hard and one of her dark eyebrows twitching. But whatever it was she was getting at wasn't brought up again. They didn't stay very long after finishing the food. Adrien paid the bill and they left. This time, Anaïs remembered to slip on her jacket.

Their drive back was entirely silent. Every now and then, Adrien glanced over at his sister and found her with her long legs pulled up to her chest. Her fingernails bit into the fabric of her jeans; some of them had been bitten off, a couple had band-aids wrapped around them. Adrien hadn't noticed earlier that this old anxious habit had returned. He nearly brought it up, but thought against it.

When he pulled up in front of her house, Anaïs sat still. She did not remove her seatbelt or even put down her feet. She glanced out the window at the facade of her childhood home and sighed quietly.

"You okay?"

No reply.

"Ana?"

She looked back at him, and her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Baby Girl," he said, reaching over to set a hand on her knee. "What's the matter? I've been so worried about you."

"I know what I need to do, Adrien," she murmured. "I don't really have a plan yet, but I'm going to work it out."

Adrien's heart dropped into his stomach. "Ana-"

"I'm going to bring him back," she told him, and her eyes blazed like flames of silver.

Adrien killed the engine. He kept his grip on the keys, because he knew if he took his hand away it would start to shake. A paralyzing dread prevented him from glancing back at his sister. He stared out onto the road and all the wavering trees flickering their leaves under the autumn wind.

"Everything Chrysalis did, I'm going to undo."

"You can't."

"Yes, I can. I'll find a way. I know there's a way."

"Ana. The ladybug miraculous has been destroyed. No ladybug miraculous, no restorative power. No restorative power, no reversing Chrysalis's wish." He spoke slowly, like he was explaining this to a young child.

She dropped her legs over her seat with a slam. Adrien did not look at her, but he knew she was glaring. He could hear the tears in her voice when she replied. "No, you're not - you're not _thinking_ hard enough. It's not that simple."

"Listen to me -"

"No, you listen. You listen to me. My entire life has been about finding new ways to use magic. I've never played by your rules. When I tell you, there's a way, you ought to believe me."

"This isn't about me not believing you, okay? Maybe I don't right now, but if you proved me wrong, I wouldn't be shocked." Adrien slipped his fingers up under his glasses and exhaled heavily. "You might not understand this, but I need you to trust me. Whatever you're planning to do, it's better not to do it."

Tossing back her head, she gave an appalled, nonverbal exclamation.

He tried reaching for her again, but she slapped his hand away.

"How could you say that? Seriously, Adrien? Are you joking? It's _better_ not to bring Dad back?"

"I'm not saying I don't miss him!" he said. "I do. I miss him every day. What happened shouldn't have happened, but Ana, it _happened_. A million terrible things go on in the world every day, but that's life."

"_That's life_," she mocked. She wiped her hands across her eyes and laughed, an unsettling, bitter sound. "No, that's not _my_ life. A million terrible things go on because ninety-nine percent of the world can't do anything to stop it. How long have you had the miraculous, twenty-two fucking years, and you're acting like you don't have the power in your hands to change the world?"

Adrien's sister had never spoken to him like this. The Anaïs he knew had always been a polite, well-spoken girl, with a razor-sharp wit that made for the occasional biting remark, always made in jest, always made in affection. The anger and pain dripping from her words seemed such a foreign substance to him. He said nothing. He waited for some of that emotion to drain out of her before he made his next reply. She sat in the passenger seat trying to catch her breath and stop the flow of her tears. It was four minutes before she seemed to calm down. Her shoulders relaxed and her cheeks began to dry.

"Are you good?" he asked gently.

"Yeah."

"I want to talk about this, but I want to be calm about it."

"Okay."

Adrien offered the softest expression he could manage despite the unease churning the contents of his stomach. "You've always reminded me so much of him," he told her. "You're artistic, you're passionate, you're protective, your family means the world to you, right?"

She nodded.

"You remind me of all of those wonderful things. But as you know...there was a time before you were born when Dad and I didn't have a very good relationship, and it was because he and I were opposites in that one of us was good and coping with change and the other was extremely resistant to it."

He saw Ana's lips contort into a look of displeasure, but she held her tongue.

"You know the story, Anaïs. I won't share it again. But tell me this isn't the first time you've considered that everything you're going through right now could be a repetition of a very delicate history."

"Everything?"

"Not everything," he corrected, "But a lot of it. You wanting to bring him back through any method possible, no matter the consequences…"

"Hold on." Anaïs held up an index finger. "I want to make it clear. There is a difference between what I'm trying to do and what Dad did."

"I know it feels that way."

"No, there is. If Dad succeeded, he would have totally altered reality, he would have created a massive upset. But Dad's de…" She swallowed dryly, "It _was_ the upset, Adrien, you get it? Chrysalis changed reality, and we can't be content with the way she changed it. It was _never_ meant to be."

As much as it hurt to hear her essentially argue that his mother's death was more acceptable, Adrien couldn't latch onto it now. He took a deep breath and admitted, "You have a sound point. But this isn't about our father, you know. This is about you. Everything I'm telling you, I'm telling you for your own sake. Dad made mistakes, but the biggest problem wasn't that he was trying to create a reality that wasn't meant to be, it was that he was doing so at the cost of what was around him, including his own happiness." He put a hand on Ana's shoulder. "I don't want to see the same thing happen to you. The thought of that scares me, Baby Girl."

"Quit calling me that. I'm not four."

"Anaïs."

"I'm sorry, Adrien, but I'm not letting him go. He wasn't meant to go." Her voice broke. She brought her knuckles up to her mouth and bit down. She tamed the tears before they came again, and Adrien waited patiently for her to regain her composure. "I've made up my mind. I'm doing this, whatever it is. I am going to fix this."

"You may be able to justify this to yourself, and I want to tell you I understand, but," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I don't get how you could know what happened to us in the past and still think it's the right thing. I know you don't see it this way, but this is what made Dad a villain."

She glared daggers at him.

"Please, please think about changing your mind."

"I've spent the last year making a decision, man, I'm not backing down now. Dad was a man of his word, and I'll be a woman of mine. He'd be proud."

An icy fear sank into Adrien's skin. He tightened his grasp on her shoulder. "Our father knew when to break his promises."

Anaïs winced. She brushed off his hand.

"If this has been going through your head for a year, then I'm even more worried than I already was. You are pinning responsibility for Dad's life on yourself. I've seen this before, and you're just going to feel guiltier for the fact he is gone. This isn't a healthy way to grieve."

"I'm not grieving," she snapped. "Because he's not gone. Not if I can help it."

"Jesus, Ana," breathed Adrien. "This isn't you."

"Yes it is. You said it yourself, I've always reminded you of Dad."

Adrien pulled out his phone and started to scroll through his contacts.

"What are you doing?"

"I know you've refused me before, but before you do anything, I'm begging you to talk to a grief counselor. I have the number for one. I was doing research for Nathalie. I'm giving it to you."

"Are you insane?" she demanded, looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

"It'll help to talk to someone."

"Yeah, okay. I'll do that. No problem," she sneered.

"Anaïs."

"You're not listening to yourself. Talk to a grief counselor? About Dad? That's crazy. What am I supposed to tell them?" Anaïs threw out her arms. "'My dad died and it was really hard', like that's going to solve a damn thing. You know I can't say shit about what really happened. 'By the way, I'm actually Black Witch and my brother is Chat Noir and my dad was Hawkmoth twenty years ago. Chrysalis killed him in cold blood using reality-altering magic'. Is that what I should say?"

Adrien looked at her helplessly. "I just can't stand to know you're feeling this way."

"Sorry, but a grief counselor isn't going to do anything for me. They can't do anything for people like us. People with secrets."

"Nathalie said the same thing." Adrien cracked his knuckles against his forehead. "Please don't rope her into this. I know she's not well."

"Wouldn't dream of it. And she's fine."

He unlocked the car door, and Anaïs finally undid her seatbelt. She looked weary and angry and thoroughly unconvinced. It sent a pang through Adrien's chest.

"Goodbye, Adrien."

"Ana, I know you love him. I love him too, and I wish he was still here with us every day. He made the right choices in the end, but he made a lot of bad ones first. Please, please be better than him."

She stepped out of the car and turned around, shooting him a sad, frigid glare. "Know better. Goodbye, Adrien."

She slammed the door.

* * *

A few minutes before 3 AM, Nathalie heard the front door open and shut. Exhausted as she was, the sound brought her to attention, and she sat with her spine straight against the back of the chair at the corner of the living room, her fingers curled over the armrests and her eyes fixed on the dark foyer beyond half-open glass doors.

A pair of feet made two small steps into the foyer before there was a sudden pause. The illuminated lights in the living room had been noticed, pale yellow spilling out unto the dark hardwood floor. Anaïs became visible a moment later as her tall silhouette brightened in the way of the doors. Her winter coat was dusted with fine snowflakes; her hair was damp where many of them had already melted into her scalp, and her expression was hardly tinged by guilt.

She removed her boots, maintaining eye contact with her mother behind the doors. The gloves came off next, stuffed into the pockets of her coat. Anaïs had on a backpack that she shrugged away and dropped in the middle of the foyer, before she walked into the living room and closed the doors behind her.

They stared at each other, challenging each other to speak first. Nathalie's heart pounded.

"You lied to me," she finally said, to be met with a silence only interrupted by the soft noise of the house's heating system. She curled her toes in her slippers, squinted at Ana, who only stood there sucking on her teeth. "Why?"

"We want two different things," answered Anaïs quietly. Her nose was red with the cold and she sniffled. "But I'm still going to get mine."

"You're wrong. We want the same thing. We've always _wanted_ the same thing. I just know that it's not something we _should_ have."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that we should be able to sit down and have a calm conversation about this situation, as opposed to you sneaking out of the house right under my nose and behaving like I couldn't possibly understand what's going on." Most of Nathalie's hair was still black, but threads of silver caught the lamplight hanging right behind her head as she moved her head to look towards the black window. It had been snowing since eleven, when Nathalie noticed her daughter was gone from her bedroom with all of her old spell books missing from the shelves.

"I really didn't want you knowing about it to begin with, and neither did anyone else."

"Well, I know, Ana, and I've known for a long time, so I really wish you wouldn't pretend like you have something to hide from me."

"I do. I _did_. You told me to give up."

"And you told me you would."

"I didn't mean to lie."

"So you had an intention of stopping?"

Anaïs released a frustrated grunt, pressing her fists into her temples. "I don't know, okay?" she said. "I don't know."

"No, I believe you did," Nathalie murmured, leaning back, "But I'm sure the moment you had that glimmer of hope in your mind that you were getting somewhere, you changed your mind."

Her daughter stared at her.

"He had that habit too."

Blue-gray eyes froze over. Nathalie had seen Ana glare at her like that many, many times in the last three years and it never started to hurt less. It was rare that her child even looked at her anymore - looked at anything, really, for she often appeared as if she was falling away from her own body and the world surrounding it - but when she did, she glanced with a pair of eyes that seemed older and harder and darker than they should have been. She used to see her husband in those eyes, and now she saw a stranger.

"Well, where were you?" she prompted with the cock of her head. "You might as well share."

"You don't want to know."

"I can guess, Anaïs. I'm not stupid, but I'd rather hear it from you than my own imagination."

The younger woman spat out a sharp breath that disturbed the wet strands of hair hanging messily between her eyes. "His grave, Mom. I was at his grave."

"And what were you doing there?"

"The same thing I've been doing since he died. Trying to think of a way to bring him back!" Anaïs took the gloves out of her pockets and threw them on the floor hard enough to create two loud slaps that rang through the house. "Feel better? You know what I'm up to! Why does this have to be a confrontation?"

Nathalie got to her feet. "For once, could you consider how hard it is for me and everyone else who loves you to watch you dig yourself deeper and deeper into this hole? For once, could you even try to listen to us? Take our advice? Let us help you?"

"I don't need help, alright? Don't you think I would know if I did? I have everything I need in order to find a way to bring him back. I'm close."

"You've been saying that since you were eighteen."

"It was never true until now."

Nathalie wanted to rip her own hair out. She forced her hands back down to her side and tried to remain calm, allowing a sigh to pass through her lungs and hitch with a tearful breath. "Oh, love," she whispered.

"You don't even want to help me. You want to stop me. You've always wanted to stop me." Anaïs started to pace the room. "If you wanted to help me you'd have been working on a plan, and you would have been sitting with me tonight, if we hadn't already fixed everything by then."

"That's not true."

"You were a sorceress. You made Black Witch. You were the one to teach me about other kinds of magic. It's almost like this was meant to be, right? But you stay here, and you hole yourself up in this house - and you get mad at me for never leaving my room when you're the exact same way, aren't you? You hole yourself up and you won't leave your bed and when you leave your bed you ignore everything except for work and - and - and - and you have the gall, you have the _nerve_, Mom, to - to act like I'm the one who isn't handling this well?"

"Slow down, Ana," Nathalie urged her. "Take a breath."

"I'm trying to do something! I'm trying to fix this! What are you doing?"

"Baby Girl..."

"Your medicine isn't going to help you. Nothing's going to help you. You just want to sit in your pain and make me - make me sit with you!" Nathalie grasped her daughter by the arm, but Anaïs violently shook her off. "No!"

"Calm down. Remember what I said. I want to have a conversation."

"You want to change my mind. You're not changing my mind."

"What will?"

"What will?" Anaïs was jarred by the question. She paused in the middle of the room and flashed her horrified gaze at her mother. "What will? I don't get it. I just don't get it. What _will_? I'm trying to save Dad's life! He was taken from us, from all of us, or am I - am I misremembering? Is he upstairs now?"

"Would you sit down?" Nathalie asked gently, gesturing to the couch, but Ana remained on her feet. She buried her face in her hands and stood frozen like that for several minutes while Nathalie waited for her to come back.

"Mom?" she whimpered in the silence. "Mom, I'm sorry."

"I really think you need some help, love. I think we both do."

"I don't want to let go. I can do this."

"Maybe you can. But you shouldn't. You're hurting yourself."

"No, I'm not. I'm fine."

"Your father wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want you to repeat his mistakes." Nathalie knew that much was true. She and Gabriel had spent all of their baby's childhood fearing the past would resurface, prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that it didn't. Every villain the heroes had faced in Ana's lifetime was compared to the first that ever terrorized the city, Hawkmoth and Mayura. They were a pair of names that haunted them for years after their surefire demise, to Nathalie like a stain of ink or an unfriendly shadow. Chrysalis's first akuma, Timetagger, attacked when Ana was seven years old, and that was when they decided they could not hold off telling her any longer. That miraculous had once belonged to her father, and he used it to commit atrocities against the city, just like this new holder was doing now. But he and Nathalie were new people, better people. They forged a new path and built a new life and Ana was their greatest joy of it. Ana listened. She asked questions. She understood. Nathalie remembered how her heart swelled with warmth as her little girl leaped into her arms and told her, "You guys are my heroes."

But she didn't understand how they could sit and listen to news commentators and random civilians call Hawkmoth and Mayura villains. She didn't understand how they were content to let only their family know that they had changed. Anaïs wanted to change everything. Anaïs wanted the world to know about the good Hawkmoth and Mayura were truly capable of.

She became Black Witch when she was thirteen. The ally of Ladybug and Chat Noir. The daughter of Hawkmoth and Mayura. The redeemer of their sins. She wanted to wash away the stain of every mistake they'd ever made. Gabriel had been proud. They were both proud, but they were scared too.

Because Chrysalis was one mistake Black With could not erase.

And now, three years later, it seemed like everything else was falling out of the woodwork. Anaïs had been the best of her parents, but she was the worst of them too. She was stubborn and defiant and she couldn't separate love from pain or wrath or shame. Nathalie trembled in fear for what she was watching unfold. She'd lived in fear all her child's life, waiting for something to go wrong, and it finally was. She still wasn't ready. She still felt small enough to be swallowed by all of this.

"Anaïs." Nathalie turned her daughter to face her and brushed back her wild black hair. It desperately needed a cut. The ends looked like frayed wires. "I can't do this again. I can't. You understand that, don't you?"

"Mom?"

"I went through it once. I pinned everything on the hope that things would be better if they just went back to the way they were before." Nathalie cupped her cheek. Her skin was still cold from the winter night outside. "You know a part of me has to think the way you think. A part of me wants to walk with you, but I…" The words died on her lips.

Anaïs took her wrist. "Then look the other way."

She removed her mother's hands and forced them down. Frustrated, Nathalie rushed to the door and blocked Ana's way out. She was smaller than her daughter, but unintimidated. "Please, Ana, you've been so filled with anger and guilt all this time, but you will never be happy as long as you hang on to it."

"Guilt?" Ana said, eyes widening. "Who said anything about guilt? I'm not guilty."

"Ana-"

"What are you implying? Do you think I'm at fault for this?"

Nathalie recoiled. "No!"

Her vehemence earned a strange reaction. Anaïs looked doubtful, but her aggressive stance had faltered a moment, as if she was turning inward. Then, she attempted to move past her mother. Nathalie stood firm. She held her daughter's brisk, outraged stare.

"We're not leaving this room until we've come to an agreement."

"If you want to agree, then you'll let me do this."

"You have to trust that everything will be okay."

"Nothing will be okay until I've brought him back."

Nathalie's heart split apart. She stamped her foot hard enough to shake the room, and Anaïs flinched back. "Oh my God, Anaïs!" she exclaimed, laughing through the surge of agony in her chest. "You're just like him!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ana growled. Tears welled up in her eyes. "It's like - it's like you _never even loved him_!"

She fell silent. Even her breath, she held. Like a stroke of lightning across a blackened sky, the old Anaïs revealed herself in a loud and blinding flash of regret. Slowly, her hands came up to cover her mouth. Half a dozen band-aids and several more uncovered scabs around her fingernails stood out against the stark paleness of her face.

But then, her eyes went cold. That instantaneous familiarity melted back into darkness, and Ana was once again a stranger wearing the face of Nathalie's child.

And Nathalie stared at her, speechless and numb. She wasn't sure what force it was that was keeping her upright, because she suddenly had no sense of her own body, and no sense of her own mind but for the echo of those words crashing through.

And then getting quieter and quieter.

Until she felt like she was sinking slowly out of existence.

"How dare you?" she heard herself say, though she didn't know she had commanded herself to say it. Anaïs took several steps back. She closed her eyes, and whenever she did that, Nathalie felt like she was looking in a near perfect reflection of herself. Right now, she hated the view.

"I'm done." Ana whispered. She hardened her fists and rolled back her shoulders and attempted to storm past her mother, but Nathalie's arms shot out and shoved Ana back, keeping her in the room.

"Like I never even loved him?" echoed Nathalie. She felt weak. All her body's strength seemed as though it was stirring this pit of embers somewhere deep in her soul, about to light this violent fire, make her burst into heat and light.

But she didn't. She stood perfectly still and she spoke just loud enough for Ana to hear. "I loved him, darling. You know it." must have been something dangerous in Nathalie's face, for fear flickered briefly across her daughter's hard expression. "Maybe if you knew how much I loved him, you wouldn't have said it at all. Do you understand, do you understand that every time I've had to tell you to give this up, it's killed me? Because it feels like I'm killing him. Over and over. It feels like there's this tiny flame of possibility in a universe of darkness and I'm the one blowing it out. It feels like I've touched him, just by the hand, and that I've pushed him away again. Every time I tell you you're making the wrong choice, he dies. _I _kill him."

Her words earned no reaction. Was she speaking to solid stone? Right now she felt further away from Ana that she felt from anything else in the world.

So she started screaming.

"Are you listening? Are you listening to me? Am I really supposed to believe that what I do is for the best? I _have_ to believe it, because if I don't, then you're going to keep falling further and further away from me. You're going to follow him, but I can't be left alone right now." Nathalie tilted her head back and yelled at the ceiling. Perhaps it would hear her better. "I could live the rest of my life knowing in my heart he shouldn't have been taken from us if I didn't have to fight tooth and nail to keep _you_ from slipping through my fingers! I have to lie to myself every day! I have to pretend I can live in a world where we're apart and that's okay. _It's not okay_!"

Nathalie knew, Anaïs had only heard her mother shout like this once before. Once before.

And it ruined everything.

Her throat felt raw. She coughed into her elbow and went on, feeling like she couldn't breathe, but finding that the words spilled out of her anyway. "I loved your father more than I loved my own life, and that was something he had to learn the hard way. It was something I'd forgotten until I found out he was gone from me forever. But I almost sacrificed _everything_, my present life, our entire future for the thought of him being happy again. And now he's gone and it feels like there is no future. It feels like there's nothing left." She coughed again and inhaled a rasping breath. "But you're still here. I still have you. I still have Adrien and Marinette and the kids, but I'm terrified because I know that if I gave myself permission, I'd let it all hang in the balance a second time. A second time. _As if I hadn't learned from the first_!"

"No," Anaïs finally said, her voice low. "Don't do this. You're not like that. Maybe you were but you're not anymore, because we" - she switched her index finger back and forth erratically - "are not alike. _I'm_ the one willing to make sacrifices. Don't lie to my face and say you have it in you to help me. You make the choice every single day not to. Every day!" she yelled.

"You don't know what you're saying." Tears poured from Nathalie's eyes. She was shaking. Feeling was returning to her limbs, but all she felt was that her body couldn't hold her. She slid down against the door and sobbed into her palms.

"What, like I've lost my mind?"

Nathalie looked at her helplessly, any reply she could have made to that question trapped in an incoherent whirlwind of thoughts on the back of her tongue.

"Do you still wish you'd never told me?" her daughter asked softly. "Are you still _that_ afraid? That you'd have rather _lied_?"

Nathalie's heart broke apart. She felt like she was dying. "I can't do this, Ana. I'm done. I have to stop this, but it'd be so much easier to just let it go."

"Then let it go."

"I'm _trying_ to hold on. He'd want me to hold on, but…" She looked up and dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of her robe. "Oh, it could be over so soon. I could...I could…"

And then, finally, something gave way on Anaïs's stony visage. Horror dawned in her eyes. But whether it was at herself, or at what her mother was saying, Nathalie never got to know.

She bolted. The door beside Nathalie was flung wide open and crashed against the wall. Looking over her shoulder, Nathalie watched her pick the backpack up off the floor, jam the boots back on her feet and run out of the house, not even bothering to slam the front door behind her.

Snowflakes blew into the foyer and melted on the floor.

Nathalie didn't move until she was shivering cold.

* * *

As she expected, Marinette found Anaïs in the back of her closet reaching for the gramophone on the highest shelf. She'd flicked on the light switch and stood in the doorway with one of her nine-year-old sons at her side, whose eyes were blown wide at the sight of his aunt attempting to steal what he'd always been told was a priceless heirloom.

Ana paused, looking at the pair with a face white with dread. She lowered her arms.

Marinette tapped her son on the shoulder. "Why don't you go find your siblings and tell them dinner is going to be a little late tonight? Mom needs to have a talk with Ana."

He nodded and ran from the room. Marinette beckoned for Anaïs to step out of the closet and had her take a seat on the edge of the bed. After pulling a chair out from the wall, Marinette sat as well, crossing her legs and folding her fingers in her lap. She wore a placid expression, she evened her breath. Never mind that for half a second, she wasn't completely certain Ana would have the patience for a peaceful encounter, that she'd not take what she wanted and run.

"No need for this," Anaïs said gruffly. "Don't bother with your usual niceties. Tell me to get out. I know that's what you want to say."

"I'm not going to tell you to get out, Ana. I want to talk to you. I've been waiting for the opportunity."

"You and everyone else on the planet. But none of you want to listen to me. You just want to change my mind."

"No, let's chat." Marinette raised her chin in interest. "Tell me what you've been thinking about."

Anaïs had come to her and Adrien's door at four in the morning and refused to explain anything to them. She crashed in the guest bedroom until noon, and emerged to tell them that someone should be keeping an eye on her mother. Adrien had been over there since, and Marinette knew in the meantime that her sister-in-law was bound to take advantage of her current environment for the sake of her long-held goal. Marinette had deliberately left Anaïs alone for a half hour that evening, knowing she would seize the opportunity to go straight for the box. Ana hadn't even spoken to them in months. If she was here, it was because she wanted something.

To Marinette's satisfaction, she recognized there was no reason to lie about it either. She deflated and said, "I have a plan."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Care to share it?"

"I…" Anaïs picked at the scabs on her fingers.

"I wouldn't approve, would I?"

"As if you've approved of anything I've been doing."

"Well, you've never talked to me about it. So, you might find yourself surprised." Marinette smiled and leaned forward. "I'm all ears, darling."

Anaïs pursed her lips. As she pondered her response over the next several minutes, she ripped a piece of skin from around her pinkie nail and mindlessly sucked away the blood. Meanwhile, Marinette glanced at the window, idle and patient, yet detecting a stir of anxiety in the pit of her stomach as the silence went on.

Finally, Ana murmured, "I...I'd thought of doing this before, but I was hoping that I could find a way to...bring him back without changing anything else. But I see now that everything needs to change. This entire world feels broken. I spent forever writing and practicing spells that would fix all of this, but it just wasn't adding up."

Marinette knew thanks to Nathalie that Anaïs hadn't nurtured any of her other talents in years. She'd been told that a half-painted canvas has collected dust on Ana's easel since the first anniversary of her dad's murder, and that the only music in the house occurred when a sudden angry cacophony of random piano keys were slammed in a fit of rage. Marinette hated to think of how many hours Ana had spent doing nothing else but agonizing over Gabriel's demise and trying to find a way to fix it.

"So, I guess the only way I can be sure to make everything okay again is…" Anaïs got to her feet. "I need the rabbit miraculous."

Marinette blinked at her, not moving from her chair. "Oh?"

"Please, Marinette."

"Is that what you were trying to take just now? The rabbit?"

"There's so much I could do with the rabbit miraculous that would make all of this go away. Just think of the possibilities, Marinette. I have a million ideas, and if any of them don't work, then I can go back again. I can go back as many times as a need to until all of this is fixed. What if I stopped Chrysalis from ever taking the butterfly miraculous, or what if I-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Marinette interrupted, holding up a hand. She sighed, studying the wildness in Anaïs's expression. "I'm not giving you the rabbit miraculous."

"But-"

"It takes a _very_ specific kind of holder to handle that power. Not even I would dare to take it up myself. As for you, Anaïs, I know you mean well, but you've demonstrated that you don't have to level head or the foresight to sensibly use that miraculous."

She looked offended by this.

"It's incredibly irresponsible and careless of you to expect numerous trips deeper and deeper into the past to be a means of repairing the timeline. The rabbit is not the snake. There's no reset button."

"You're cruel," growled Ana through gritted teeth. She paced to a nearby window, folding her arms over her chest. "You had me thinking you'd actually hear me out. But you're like everyone else. Telling me I'm incapable and foolish."

"I never said those things. I may not be telling you what you want to hear, but you should still listen." Marinette gestured at the bed once again when Anaïs glanced back over her shoulder, but she remained standing, glowering through narrowed eyes. "Oh, Ana, I've known you since you were a baby. I watched you grow up. You'd always been so smart and self-sufficient. This situation is hard enough as it is, but you're also a girl who's used to being in control. You feel out of it right now, and it's hard."

"Stop. I don't need you to read me."

"I'm attempting to understand you. You tried to write your own destiny when you became Black Witch, and rewrite the legacy of your parents before you. That narrative was completely in your hands for years. And then, all at once, everything felt so out of your reach. Am I right?"

Stiffly, Ana nodded.

"See, I get it. We all get it. No one is deliberately trying to misunderstand you." Marinette gently tapped her feet as she spoke, and Ana watched their movement. "You've been fighting all this time to gain some of that control back, and I know it's the last thing you want to hear, but maybe the best thing for you is to relinquish that control."

Ana scoffed and turned back to the window, hugging herself.

"Let me ask you this: do you feel obligated to save your father?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"What I mean is do you see this as a purely emotional endeavor, or do you think you are _responsible_ for bringing him back?"

Ana reached back and balled all her hair into her fists, asking "Why can't it be both?"

"Is it both?"

"They say justice is blind, but that's a lie," she mumbled. "Justice walks deliberately into the darkness to create light."

"Haven't you already gotten your justice?" Marinette asked thickly. Nobody liked to talk about the moments that immediately followed Gabriel's death. The pointedness of her question got stuck somewhere on the walls of her throat, a welcome mishap, for she had no way of knowing how Anaïs would have reacted to her darkest hour being more directly addressed.

To this question, she merely shrugged and replied, "It righted no wrong."

"On that, we can agree."

Both went quiet. Anaïs stood looking out the window for half a minute before turning back to the rest of the room, and releasing a sigh as if she was disappointed to find the rest of the world still existing around her. She looked exhausted, with smudges of purple skin beneath her eyes and her hair falling messily towards her broad, rigid shoulders. She'd once had a ramrod posture like her parents, but she seemed too weary now to hold her body straight.

Marinette watched her slink back to the edge of the bed. She sat down once more, ran her hands down the sides of her face and gave a large sigh. Her face was busy with thought, and after another moment, she finally flicked her gaze back from up the floor, looking hopeless.

"I'm sorry, Anaïs," Marinette told her, rising to her feet. "I really hope you don't think this hasn't been hard for the rest of us too."

She opened her mouth to respond, but only a weak whimper escaped.

"We've...had to act really strong. If it feels like we've turned our backs on you, then I am sorry." Marinette lowered her voice. "Is that how it's felt?"

Ana shut her eyes and gave a near imperceptible dip of her head.

"I know what it's like to feel abandoned by the people who are supposed to be there for you. I'm not going to tell you that our situations are anything alike, but I can imagine how hard this has been." For the first time in years, Marinette let herself remember those seemingly endless uncertain months of her youth, when the weight of a city pressed down from above, pressed in from every angle, and she'd have considered herself a failure for being crushed. "I was completely unprepared for my mentor to disappear, for the guardianship to fall into my hands. I was still a child at the time, you know, just as you were when Gabriel was...was killed." She brushed some hair behind her ear, not wanting to look at Ana while she spoke. "And it felt like I had nothing. There seemed to be this entire hidden world I needed to unlock, but I was left with none of the keys. To this day, you know, I've never heard from the other guardians, I'd never heard from my old master, and back then, I thought the only way to manage was to hold everything around me under my thumb. I was grappling with the fact that I had no control when I felt I should have had it all."

"I'd never known it was like that for you," whispered Anaïs. "You'd always made it look so easy."

"Well, because I learned eventually that I had to trust the people around me to support me - yes, when I did have it together, but especially when _I didn't_. I was never alone, Ana. Through every loss and struggle, I had people to count on. Always," she finished. Marinette crossed the space to the bedside and clasped Anaïs's arm, offering a smile. She didn't know how it appeared to the young woman, but she hoped more than anything in that moment that she'd get one back. Get _something_ back.

"Regardless of how you feel now, twenty years later, do you believe," Anaïs murmured, her voice trembling, "that you shouldn't have been abandoned?"

Her heart felt heavy as she answered, "Yes."

"Is it something you would change if you could, if you knew things would be better in the long run?"

"I don't…"

"If you _knew_, Marinette."

"It's hard to say," she whispered.

"Do you believe…" Ana leaned in closer, putting her hand on top of Marinette's, "that he shouldn't have died?"

Marinette didn't want to reply. There was this feeling of dread at the back of her throat like cotton blocking her airways, but she swallowed it to rasp out another, "Yes."

Ana shot up, startling Marinette back. "I won't use the rabbit miraculous," she said quickly, "But if there was another way, a far less dangerous way, and you knew I truly _could_ bring him back, could you refuse me? Could you let a man who wasn't meant to die stay dead?"

This wasn't the direction the conversation was meant to go. Unsure of how to reply, Marinette merely took a couple more steps back and exhaled sharply.

"Could you justify allowing the ladybug miraculous to be lost to oblivion, when I could take it back?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"I really meant it when I said I could fix everything," Ana told her.

"What are you thinking?" Marinette narrowed her eyes skeptically.

"I just need one thing from you: the fox miraculous."

"Now the fox? What for?"

"It makes for the perfect distraction."

Marinette didn't want to admit that was a sensible reply, so she turned her back and looked at the wall.

"Please, Marinette. Don't make me beg for this. If you could allow me to maintain just a shred of dignity..." On the wall hung a family portrait of Marinette, Adrien, and their three children. She focused on each one of their faces, trying to deafen herself to the desperation in Ana's voice, but that only stirred this thick, nauseating guilt inside of her. "You're all I have left. Adrien won't help me. My mother won't help me. They're too afraid of the past. If there's any hope at all, it's you. I need you to trust me, please. Tell me you trust me."

"Anaïs." Marinette composed herself and turned back around to find the young woman with her hands clasped to her chest, her expression an outpour of earnest fear. "You keep promises, right?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes."

"Will you keep a promise to me?"

"Of course."

"You know, it's broken our hearts to watch this happen over the last three years. We've wanted _so badly _to help you, it ached. It kept us awake at night."

Anaïs's eyes went bright and round as Marinette stepped towards the closet door.

"It was so hard to know if we were doing the right thing because we knew, even though we didn't see you much, we knew you were unhappy. Terribly unhappy. I wondered if I could live with the fact you were suffering over this, no matter how much we convinced ourselves that it was better to move on."

A part of Marinette screamed at her as she traveled into the closet, pulled out a step ladder and reached for the gramophone on the top shelf. Loudly. Her hands quivered and paused just before wrapping themselves around the old antique. But she stepped down. She emerged from the closet and she set it on the dresser, shaking her head at herself.

"I'm only doing this," she said pointedly, "Because I'm worried you'll do something worse on your own. The longer this goes on, the less I'm certain you'll respect me enough not to steal this box from me anyway. I'm trusting you now, before it's too late, to keep this promise and all its conditions."

"What is it?" Ana asked. She seemed unphased by every other word that had been said to her, and Marinette knew at once that if her sister-in-law had the rabbit miraculous in her possession, she truly might have allowed everything outside of her reckless endeavor to burn to waste in the endlessly shifting flames of time. She'd witnessed the violence Ana was capable of. The blind wrath and hyper-focused passion. She couldn't fool herself into expecting any better at this point. Her mouth went dry at the thought and she realized there perhaps was truly no way to win. So, she'd lose as gracefully as possible.

"Number one." Marinette unlocked the gramophone and watched the miracle box appear. "You keep a low profile. You are not Black Witch. You have no name. You have no face."

She opened the box. Every miraculous lay inside their designated compartment. All but one. Marnette's heart sank.

Oh, how she missed Tikki.

"Number two." She picked up the fox pendant. "You don't take the rabbit miraculous. Number three: nobody learns what you're up to. If someone does, abandon the mission. Understand? _Abandon it_. You are to be excessively cautious, and patient, and thoughtful."

Ana looked doubtful, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Number four." Marinette closed the box and turned herself completely towards Anaïs, attempting to glare with the heat of the sun, now setting outside the window. She grabbed Ana's wrist and held it tightly, hard enough to squeeze a grimace out of the girl. "You finish this _without any more blood on your hands_."

Ana's countenance cracked. Marinette saw memory in her glassy silver eyes.

"Do you promise?"

Anguish flickered upon her pale skin, as if a candlelight wavered perilously under a breath of wind.

Ana inhaled. Her gaze pierced into Marinette's as she whispered, "I promise."

The fox miraculous was pressed into her palm.

Anaïs stumbled back. She looked shocked. She looked alive. For the first time in years, Marinette saw her smile, but it filled her with no comfort, no confidence, only grave uncertainty.

Then, she glanced at the miracle box. "I…" Anaïs spread her fingers over the lid. "I need to make some potions before I go. Just a few. And I'll give the box back, and you'll see I've taken no more miraculous than what you've given me. I'll keep my promises, Marinette."

She should have said no.

She had a terrible feeling about all of this.

But the scariest part was that she didn't find it much different from the way she'd been feeling for the last three years. It didn't feel much different from the way she imagined herself if she refused, and Ana found another way…

Because she would.

Marinette sighed and slid the box across the dresser. "I believe you."

* * *

A billion stars exploded in a single heartbeat. Her eyes swam up to the ceiling, and the floor rushed up to her back.

A mechanical scream blared out from somewhere far away - Lila didn't quite know where she was at the moment - "I've had enough of you!"

She hadn't even noticed that a heeled boot was pressing down on her sternum until she'd made the effort to crawl away. Additional weight descended and pinned her forcefully to the cold metal floor. An agonized groan trembled out of her throat like it was being squeezed out of her. She couldn't breathe. Tears soaked into her hair. As Lila ran her tongue along her teeth, she tasted blood.

The Sorcerer bent at the waist, holding out the hand Lila had bitten just seconds ago, earning her a blow to the side of her head. The pain and the tears made it difficult to make out the smooth silver mask inching closer and closer to her own face.

She raised an arm to try and stop them, but her bones felt to be made of lead. Quickly, the Sorcerer's fingers pinched the pendant around Lila's neck and tore it free, stripping the transformation away. Whatever extra strength she possessed as Volpina drained out of her body, from her head to her feet. There was the feeling of ice in her toes as she became weak and human again. Lila's vision dimmed.

The Sorcerer took their boot off her chest. Coughing, Lila watched as they raised the necklace up to their face.

"Separate," they barked.

A beam of light reflected off their mask for a moment as the one necklace became two. The Sorcerer slipped one of them up the sleeve of their cloak, and the other they placed in an octagonal box, appearing to contain numerous other pieces of jewelry Lila could only guess were other miraculous.

Her head throbbed where she had been struck. She dragged her fingers across the floor until she could lift them up to her quickly bruising brow bone. Lila groaned again and attempted to roll to her side, hoping she had enough strength left to stumble back to her feet, to get out of this place. Where was she? This dark room. And where was the dark room? Over their hideout, she remembered, the old Agreste mansion. Then, she'd be fine. She knew her way home from there…

Lila flinched as the miracle box slammed down on the floor. The Sorcerer's hands wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her up to her feet. Her head rushed with the sudden movement. She demanded to be released.

"You've run out of chances," the Sorcerer threatened.

"You…" Lila heaved a tired breath. Her shoes barely scraped against the floor as she kicked her legs as madly as possible. The Sorcerer stunned her into stillness by bashing her against the wall and holding her there.

"I, what? I, _what_?!" they screeched. "I ruined your chance at revenge? I betrayed your faithful allegiance? Bullshit."

Lila wailed out a word that may have been "Help!" but she wasn't sure.

They released a quivering laugh. "Why did I even bother with you? For the irony?" They shook Lila hard enough that the hood fell off their head. "Every second I spent with you was torture. _Torture_. There's really no hope for you at all, is there? You're a cesspool of selfish anger. You're pure, remorseless evil. It all makes sense, even - even now!"

There was something so incredibly lethal in their tone that it made Lila nauseous, like she'd swallowed poison. "Please," she gasped, "please let me go."

They laughed again.

"I won't bother you ever again. I swear it."

"As if I could believe a word out of your mouth. You're damn lucky," they snarled, pulling at Lila's collar aggressively, "that I agreed not to kill you this time!"

Lila didn't understand. She blinked rapidly at the Sorcerer.

Her confusion only seemed to anger them more. Their grip tightened and Lila yelped in pain. "Do you have any idea how many problems that would solve?!" they demanded. "If I just -"

They dropped her. Lila's legs proved too weak to hold her up and she crumpled to the floor in a hyperventilating heap. Her pulse throbbed around her eye. Was it swelling shut?

"But I can't do that," the Sorcerer sighed. "I'm a woman of my word."

Only a few more potions hung on their belt, and they unlatched a small vial filled with a liquid the color of thunderclouds. Unlike every other potion, which they threw to the ground or shattered in their grip, they simply screwed off the cap and tossed it over their shoulder.

"I wrote this spell," they told Lila. There was a strange and sudden absence of emotion from their tone that frightened Lila more than any of the ferocious things they'd said in the last several minutes. "I was at my wit's end. Nearly gave up. I thought that if I could just forget everything that led me to this, then it would be better, but I couldn't betray him like that. Not after I'd…" they trailed off. Their hand was shaking. The potion swirled in its little vial. "Done what I'd done. And I couldn't possibly let you off with the mercy of having forgotten your sins."

"What are you talking about?" Lila murmured. The Sorcerer glared down at her from where she sat on her knees.

"There's a million things I'll have you forget. But there's one I wish you remember." They stepped close enough that their boots touched Lila's fingertips. They whispered a string of words under their breath, a spell, and the contents of the vial were pulled from the glass to dance like a ribbon around their long, gloved fingers. The Sorcerer bent down and took Lila's chin in their free hand, raising up her head until they were level.

"I want you to remember what you see."

The potion flowed around their head, spinning faster and faster until creating a ring that framed their silver mask and its narrow black slits boring into Lila's petrified gaze. The dark gray liquid brightened until the edges of Lila's vision were completely obscured by light, and all she could see was the masked face of the Sorcerer.

"I want you to remember this, because if I fail, Lord forbid it, you'll see me again. And I want you to know, deeper and louder than you know your own _name_, that when you fashion this face, this cloak, this villain out of your cursed imagination and name it _Reaper_, you are creating the one person you won't be able to control."

Lila froze. The light grew cold. It flowed into her skin like bitter wind, dry and frigid and biting, like it could tear her flesh away. It streamed through her body, deeper and deeper until it exploded through her mind.

It was like everybody always liked to say, about life flashing before your eyes before you die, except she only felt like she was withering away on the inside. And instead of the images crashing together until their inevitable end, Lila witnessed each one of them be destroyed.

Crushed, like in a pair of hands. Disintegrated.

She felt like that should have hurt, but she didn't know why.

"You are creating the woman who kills you."

Lila saw her. That ugly twist of grief and wrath through every delicate feature, nose and mouth and brow and beaming blue-gray eyes. A shocking fear lanced through her. She felt that she'd had her heart drilled out of her chest. This was her last breath. This was her last breath. This was her last -

"Remember _me_."

And she saw him too. Saw the eyes they shared, and the blood on his face and the magic dripping from his body as it sucked the life away.

She knew him.

There was all this light around her - where did it come from? - and pressure on her jaw, like a hand, that was slipping away now.

Lila's mind went blank. She felt herself sink into the earth.

The ground.

The floor.

It was dark now.

Where was she?


	19. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Right before the Sorcerer had fallen to the floor, Ladybug's very first thought upon seeing her face was, _She's tall_.

Probably about 1.9 meters if she had to guess. Tall for a woman. She wasn't standing very straight now, being held up on her feet by Hawkmoth and Mayura, but Ladybug thought she was at least taller than Chat Noir standing beside her. He stared open-mouthed at the scene unfolding in front of him, blinking at each struggle the Sorcerer made to free herself.

Her apprehenders backed away, and she dropped against the wall in tears.

Mayura whispered, "Anaïs?"

Anaïs?

Anaïs Who?

But then Ladybug felt as though the floor had shifted right under her feet, her entire center of gravity being warped. She grabbed Chat Noir's forearm, who unlike her, felt so steady that he might as well have turned to stone, but Ladybug couldn't glance at him right now. Her eyes were locked on the woman, on that face that she realized resembled Nathalie's so strongly, there was no denying that it had to be the face of her daughter. It simply had to. There was no other explanation. Nose and jawline were identical. Brow was identical. The only thing that wasn't a practically perfect reflection of Mrs. Agreste was the pair of eyes, round with horror and shiny as dinner plates, yet bearing striking similarities to Hawkmoth's typically focused stare.

Ladybug shut her mouth with a loud click of teeth - she hadn't even noticed it fall open. _Holy shit…_

The young woman hadn't apparently heard Mayura utter her name. She sat there trying to regain her breath for a moment before she lurched forward onto her hands and reached for the many shattered fragments of her mask.

"There's no way." Ladybug finally looked up at her partner, who watched with an expression twitching in disbelief. "That's not...but she's…"

Ladybug closed her grip around his arm firmer, to remind him that she was present. He looked halfway in her direction before quickly looking back again.

"But it can't…"

It could, though. Maybe it was the sheer possibility of the situation that imbued Ladybug's mouth with this sour taste of upset shock. Maybe if there truly was no conceivable way that this was happening, she'd feel a lot blanker right now, a lot colder. The problem was this _was_ possible, and it didn't even go as far as the numerous confounding things the Sorcerer accomplished with their strange magic. Time travel was real and sensible to them as any other super power Ladybug had handed out to the palms of her trusted allies.

Even if it hadn't been her first or second guess, it was almost stupid that she'd never even considered it before.

"Is that really you?" Hawkmoth asked in dismay. The Sorcerer was stacking the pieces of her mask in her hands, and when she heard his voice, her movements seized. Her eyes blew wide open and gazed towards the floor.

"I don't have a…" she murmured. "I don't have a - a name."

She sounded just like Nathalie. Her voice was only a little deeper.

"I don't have a face," she added. She selected one of the fragments with a shaking hand and pressed it over her right eye. It clattered back to the floor the moment she let it go. "No, no. I don't have a face."

She laid the fragments on the floor and attempted to rearrange them. Her breath was frantic and her fingers even more so. Eventually she peeled the gloves off her hands and threw them aside, as if that would make it possible for her to adhere the pieces together again. A lot of the skin around her nails had been torn away, leaving patches of bright red on her fingers.

Mayura spun around, and Chat Noir immediately stepped towards her, breaking out of his rigid stance. His step-mother was pale and her expression was that of someone who was seconds from throwing up. She likely would have collapsed had he not made it to her side in time, wrapping an arm around her waist and using the other to hold up her shoulders. She held her hands up to the side of her face, blocking her peripheries, forcing her glassy pink gaze to only view what lay ahead of her. She looked at Ladybug, only to find the heroine's disposition to be nearly as troubled as her own. With a series of trembling breaths, Mayura let herself be eased down to the floor by Chat Noir.

"Breathe," he was telling her, once she'd landed on her knees. "It's fine, it's -"

"Oh my God," she panted, clasping her hand against her chest. Her breathing became only more erratic until it broke out into a sob. Mayura bent forward, letting her forehead hover inches from the floor, while Chat Noir rubbed circles into her back. He looked to his father, as if searching for assistance, but Hawkmoth stood watching the Sorcerer continue to try to finish the puzzle that was her shattered mask.

Half a minute went by, and as those seconds pressed on, she started working faster and faster, the scowl on her face deepening and then twisting with terror. She'd arranged the fragments into a recognizable shape eventually, but appeared to be missing a chip, for she started dashing her eyes wildly around the floor.

"Where's it?" she asked aloud. "Where's it?"

Hawkmoth shifted his foot, and revealed the lone shard under the toe of his shoe. The Sorcerer caught sight of it and paused, sucking in her breath. She then tilted back her head and looked up into his face.

Ladybug couldn't see his expression, but she could guess it was filled with anguish.

"Anaïs," he murmured.

"No," she replied.

He stepped forward, and she drew away, dragging the pieces with her. She fell onto her tailbone and kicked a leg out, giving an additional protest.

Ladybugs's heart was aching, because if she gathered anything from the Sorcerer's reaction, it was that Gabriel must have done something wrong to her. But Hawkmoth didn't seem to arrive at that same conclusion. He came even closer and crouched down to her level. There was this frozen, uncertain kind of fear in her face, like she was seeing a ghost.

"Wings fall."

The transformation withered away. Nooroo swirled into place above his holder's head, pressing his hands together nervously as he watched the scene below him.

Gabriel set his hands on his daughter's wrists and her fists unclenched, dropping the fragments she was holding.

"Anaïs, Baby Girl -"

She flung herself into his arms.

Nothing in the world had the ability to settle the troubled spirits of everybody in that room, but some of the tension melted out of Ladybug's body seeing this distraught woman finally take some comfort. She sobbed into Gabriel's shoulders, clinging to him like he kept her head above water. It seemed that she was trying to speak, but Ladybug couldn't make out her words through her heavy outpour of emotion.

Gabriel was tense under her arms, hugging her back rather weakly. Ladybug supposed that knowing this sorcerer was his daughter did not make the embrace any less shocking. She couldn't imagine what was running through his mind, since her own was only starting to process the fact that Anaïs had not materialized out of thin air in the place of the soulless Sorcerer, but that the two were the same, that Anaïs had been hiding behind that mask all that time and that she was one Ladybug and everyone else had tied to chair and questioned. Each time she tried to force herself to reconcile the two, either the Sorcerer lost all humanness in her mind, or the woman hanging on to Gabriel became a nameless stranger.

_They are the same. They are Anaïs_.

Chat Noir nudged Mayura softly, urging her to look. With enough encouragement, she raised her head from the floor and dared to turn her gaze back towards her husband. Still however, the sight seemed too much for her to bear, for she shut her eyes and faced forward once more.

"We're going to figure this out," Chat Noir assured her, pressing her hand. "It'll make sense, it'll make sense. We all just need to…" His voice broke and he cleared his throat, choosing to say nothing else.

Gabriel took Anaïs by the shoulders and gently pushed her back. She gave him this long, amazed look,

"I knew it was you," she said through tears, "But is it _really_ you?"

"Yes, it's me. Now let's calm down," he replied. "Let's talk."

"I can't. I just can't, don't you get it?"

Mayura brought her hands up to her ears. Breathlessly, she cried, "Make it stop."

Gabriel stood up. A hand reached out for him, grabbed at his pant leg as he turned around and started walking away. Anaïs asked him where he was going, but he wordlessly went to the chair she had been tied to minutes ago and brought it back. He told her to sit.

She didn't move.

"Sit," he snapped

His firmness upset her. Hurt flashed in her gaze. She did as she was told and cradled her head in her hands.

Only now did Ladybug feel like she was capable of moving. She took a few small steps forward, wondering if the shift her weight would somehow tilt this fragile space. When the quiet persisted and the room stayed still, she went to Mayura's side and helped Chat Noir lift her back to her feet. Ladybug could feel her shaking.

"I think we all need a moment," she said to Chat.

They took one. Ladybug held on to Mayura through the next few minutes, during which nobody in the lair uttered more than the sparse, quiet exclamation of shock. Gabriel was silent until he eventually chose to transform once again, and seeing him do this, Anaïs appeared to mellow as well. Her distressed body language relaxed. She ceased to cry, though her eyes remained bright red and swollen and her silence was frequently broken by sniffles. She stared at the ground, at the scattered mess of silver fragments her fingers twitched at but never touched.

Once Mayura was able to stand on her own, both Ladybug and Chat Noir peeled away from her. "Are you ready?" Chat asked.

She shook her head.

"That's okay. I'm not either."

Ladybug approached Anaïs. She didn't know what the future had in store, but she could only assume that of everyone else in the room, she was the person Anaïs would be least anxious to face. She paused at Hawkmoth's side and exchanged a glance with him, seeing his face for the first time since the revelation. He looked horrified.

She nodded her head towards Anaïs, as if to ask, "May I?" This went unacknowledged, so she began, praying her voice would not tremble, "From how far into the future did you come?"

Anaïs tossed her shoulders.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

Mayura gave a sharp breath behind them, and Chat Noir took her by the arm again. At Ladybug's side, Hawkmoth studied his daughter with this new information in mind. He wrung his hands around his cane, the only clear sign of his consternation, for he otherwise forced his countenance to be calm.

Ladybug asked next, "How did you get here? Were you escorted by Bunnyx?"

"Bunnyx? Oh…" Anaïs crossed her feet and gripped the edge of the chair. "No. I came alone."

"And does anyone know you're here?"

"At least one."

"And how do they feel about it?"

To this question, Anaïs raised an eyebrow, her entire demeanor cooling. Anxious that asking the wrong things would cause her to go as silent as she had been with the mask, Ladybug let this question slide for now. She dismissed the expectation of a response with a firm wave of her hand.

Instead, she asked, "_Why_ are you here?"

"I need the ladybug miraculous," Anaïs told them, though she didn't say it as if she was answering the question. Her words ran over Ladybug's, jumping out of her mouth as though she'd long been holding them in.

"But why?"

"I can't -" Anaïs shook her head and sank her teeth into her lip.

"There's a lot that isn't adding up here," Ladybug said, coming a little closer. She kept her tone as gentle as she could manage without being mistaken as patronizing.

"Good. You can't know."

"If we don't know, then we can't help you," rumbled Hawkmoth. Anaïs's eyes darted towards him. Each time she looked at him seemed to be the first, judging by the way her face would shift, subtly, like sand under feet.

"You weren't…" She swallowed and looked away, "You weren't meant to."

Ladybug, fearing the worst, set her hand on Anaïs's shoulder, and got exactly the reaction she expected, for the woman to jerk away from her touch and glare with warning. It was already very clear; Anaïs hadn't come back to them from a world that was about as pleasant as they could hope. Anaïs wasn't just anxious or frustrated to be confronted by the younger examples of her own family - she was _devastated_. She seemed to Ladybug a very broken person likely come from a broken world. And it was a world Ladybug didn't know if she was meant to fix.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, giving the woman space. "Listen, I understand that with time travel, you ought to be very careful of what you reveal to figures of the past."

"So, you'll have to trust me," Anaïs growled, eyes still blazing from Ladybug's touch.

"But we can't," Ladybug emphasized. As complicated as this had to be for Anaïs, she was certain it was far more alarming for the people of the present day. She'd hoped her trepidation would give Anaïs pause, but something vibrant and dangerous flickered across Anaïs face. It reminded Ladybug of the way Nathalie had looked at her the night before, when she realized Adrien and Marinette had been hiding the truth from her. More neutrally, she added, "We don't know your intentions."

But this was still the wrong thing to say. Anaïs shot to her feet and seized the chair. With a gutteral shout, she threw it at the wall, where the sound of its crash frightened everyone in the room, including Lila, whose existence Ladybug had utterly forgotten about since the mask had been shattered apart. She screamed and curled in on herself, hands wrapping around her own throat as if trying to protect it.

Apparently the chair was not enough, for Anaïs drummed her fist against the wall as well. "That's what you do!" she yelled. "You're all so afraid of making the wrong choice that you'd - that you'd sooner think me a villain than as the one person trying to make things right!"

"No one called you a -" Ladybug cut herself off right there. What she was about to say simply wasn't true.

Hawkmoth had a hand over his brooch and a faraway look in his eyes. His miraculous must have been overwhelming him with the emotions in the lair. Ladybug already felt like she could be knocked off her feet by the sheer madness of the situation; Hawkmoth, and Mayura for that matter, might as well have been caught in the winds of some torrential storm, brewing in the jewels on their chests.

"Just tell me this," Ladybug murmured slowly. Anaïs still faced the wall, panting from her outburst and leaning on her clenched fist. "If you need the ladybug miraculous now, the only thing I can assume is that the one in the future isn't available. Has someone stolen it? For some reason, are you not allowed to use it?"

"Not allowed," Anaïs repeated bitterly, her voice a growl in her throat. "_Not allowed_. You do think me a criminal."

"No," Ladybug said with vehemence. "No, that's not what I was implying. There could be a multitude of reasons you aren't able to use it."

"Do you really want to know?" she snarled. She turned her head a bit, though the strands of her dark hair shielded the glimmer of her eyes from view. "Is that what would convince you?"

"Only one way to find out," murmured Ladybug.

"Fine. Fine!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "It doesn't exist."

"What?"

"It doesn't exist!" she repeated, clawing at the wall. "It's been destroyed."

Ladybug's heart dropped into her feet. _Everything_ dropped into her feet. Her upper body felt light as a balloon.

"Destroyed," Chat Noir said. He released Mayura, who seemed as steady as she could be right now, and took a step towards his sister. "How?"

"What's the only way to destroy a miraculous?" Anaïs asked. She slowly turned to face them completely, dropping her head against the wall. "Cataclysm - poof."

They were silent.

For a long time.

Ladybug hadn't even noticed that she'd sat on the floor until Chat Noir came to kneel beside her. She could see the struggle in his face to bring his emerald stare up to hers for a reassuring glance, but ultimately, he couldn't tear his stare away from the floor. He was the first to break that long stretch of quiet as his voice quivered out from the back of his throat, hoarse with shock. "Did I…?"

"No," Anaïs said. "Not you."

"Then who?"

A pause.

"Her."

It wasn't Anaïs, but Hawkmoth who gave the answer, turning his body away from his daughter for the first time since she had been unmasked, to face the girl left to rock back and forth in the chamber of fear the Sorcerer had built within her mind. Lila wasn't aware that the attention in the room had shifted to her, for she did not lift her forehead up from where it rested on her knees or skip a beat of her gentle forward-back sway. But everyone was looking at her now, everyone including Anaïs, whose glossy, pale blue eyes sharpened.

A chill fanned through Ladybug's nerves, for something murderous glinted on their surface.

Hawkmoth fingers twitched around the butterfly miraculous. A surge of hatred towards Lila coming from his daughter like the swing of a sword answered Chat Noir's question for him. Anaïs's silence and deepening scowl answered it for everyone else.

"But that means…" Ladybug murmured, feeling for her own miraculous as if they could disappear from her person at any moment, "She had both the ladybug and the black cat at the same time."

Anaïs started laughing. She laughed until she was crying again and had to scrape tears away with her red and bandaged fingers. Nobody moved in the meantime, still processing the conclusion Ladybug had reached, wondering if there was any way for her to have been completely wrong. Knowing she couldn't be, Ladybug herself spent the next several moments waiting to wake up from whatever miserable dream she'd been trapped in for what felt like eternity now.

Anaïs doubled over, setting her hands on her knees as her laughter transitioned into a series of sharp, shallow breaths. "What the hell?" she gasped. "I already broke my promise, didn't I? I might as well tell you the whole fucking story, since you're all just dying to - _desperate _to know!"

They were, weren't they? But they were terrified too. Mayura especially seemed to teeter back and forth between intrigue and dread, but she was walking a tightrope to keep herself from falling apart again, and either side she chose would mean the same dangerously high plunge. Many times, Ladybug had witnessed Mayura ill, severely, physically ill, but she believed now that this was the worst she'd ever seen her.

At last did Hawkmoth go to her, cupping her bloodless cheeks between his hands and asking if she was okay to stay to listen. She agreed, but not without hesitation, and not without clinging to his arms and accepting his subsequent embrace. Anaïs appeared to be affected by this sight; however, it was difficult to read what emotion it was that was stirred, given the way she forced her lips into a thin line and swallowed.

"Tell us, Anaïs," Hawkmoth said. "Go slow. From the beginning."

"Are we sure about this?" Chat Noir cut in. "Is time not - fragile?"

"That's the hope," Anaïs quipped. Sullenly, she uprighted the chair she'd thrown and leaned over it, folding her hands together over the back and sighing. She took multiple seconds to collect herself before beginning the story, her tone low with defeat. "It wasn't my original plan to steal the ladybug miraculous. I was told to keep as low a profile as possible. I didn't even use the rabbit miraculous, because I promised not to. I had one potion. I wasn't even sure how much I'd made. As long as I'd gone back longer than three years, I didn't care. This was too far back, but if I was to keep my promise, then I needed to get this right. I couldn't jump around and hope I'd landed in the right year...

"What I'd hoped to do when I arrived was use _her_ as a distraction. If only you knew how perfect it was, for her to unknowingly play a hand in the justice against her." Anaïs's lips curled into a joyless, unsettling grin. "All I needed was for her to attack as Volpina once while I retrieved the miracle box from Marinette's room. I didn't even need the whole box. I needed one miraculous. The butterfly. There was no use for it. Not anymore, and for me, a small price to pay for what it would give us back."

Hawkmoth's eyes widened. "You tried to destroy it. The first time we met."

"The first time…" Anaïs echoed. "Yeah, I suppose. I did try."

"How could you do something so drastic?" Ladybug wondered. "To destroy a miraculous, to prevent the destruction of another, that's -"

She was cut off by Anaïs slamming the chair down on the floor. "Drastic?" she roared. "You haven't a clue!"

Silenced by this flare of temper, Ladybug sealed her lips. Anaïs continued, "I would have just...taken the butterfly if it was there. But it wasn't there. It and the peacock were missing. I don't know how I'd ended up with such terrible, terrible luck to show up on the one day they weren't in the fucking box."

Ladybug felt like she'd just taken a blow to the chest. She couldn't believe it. She'd taken the butterfly miraculous with her to dinner on the same night the Sorcerer had come to steal it. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

"So I took the box. I'd only brought a couple of potions with me, and I would need more if this was to go on longer than a night. I gave Volpina the fox miraculous of this time - she already had the one from the future. I fused them together, and with two fox miraculous she'd be able to create two illusions at once. One, whatever it was she wished, the other, Conspiracy."

"You were right, Mayura," Ladybug whispered, too low for the older woman to actually hear. "There _were_ two."

"I needed him because I needed to force the butterfly into use. If it and the peacock were the only miraculous available to the guardian, then they'd have to be given away to provide aid against a large enough threat. I'd made a black cat potion before I traveled back. I thought I could use it to destroy the butterfly, but potions are never as powerful as the miraculous themselves. The black cat ring could have reduced the brooch to dust, but a potion wasn't sufficient."

"So, you went for the earrings as your Plan C," Hawkmoth murmured gravely.

"It was all I had left that would be guaranteed to fix everything. I didn't _want_ to use the wish. I'd been talked down from it so. Many. Times," she grumbled spitefully, "but it was the only way now."

"Anaïs," he said. She winced each time he uttered her name, but looked to him eagerly. "That doesn't explain everything. I asked you to start from the beginning. Why do you want the wish?...you must know how dangerous -"

"I know!" she exclaimed fiercely, nearly dropping the chair. "I know! I know better than anyone in this room!"

"What happened to you?"

Everybody looked to Mayura. It was the first time she had spoken directly to her daughter, and she hadn't done it without a tremor in her words. Anaïs blinked at her, eyes hardening.

"What happened to _me_?" she said. "What happened to - what happened to _me_? What, is this not what you'd hoped would become of your child?"

Mayura had gone still.

"You must be so horrified I didn't grow up to be a coward like you."

"Anaïs!" barked Hawkmoth.

"You want to know 'what happened to me'? I'll tell you. _She _happened." Anaïs pointed at Lila. "She stole the butterfly miraculous and spent ten years of her miserable life vying for revenge she didn't fucking deserve." Another humorless laugh rippled through the air. "She'll call herself Chrysalis."

Briefly, there was a stillness in the room that was suddenly shaken by a realization that dawned on Hawkmoth, Ladybug, and Chat Noir all at once: the memory of their first encounters with time travel, the akuma Timetagger who served as proof of the butterfly miraculous continuing to be wrongly possessed. Ladybug had believed that Gabriel's surrender two years ago had set them all on a different path - a better path, judging by the lack of Bunnyx's interference. She'd misinterpreted. Timetagger hadn't been sent back by the Hawkmoth she knew, but by a new Hawkmoth, a Hawkmoth she was understanding had actually won.

Anaïs's hands curled around the chair. Her knuckles were bruising, but they turned bone-white now.

Lila raised her head. From all the way across the lair, sitting against a dark wall, she looked tiny and helpless, far from the conniving rival Ladybug had always known her to be. Her eyes shifted from face to face, and her voice stammered out:

"W-why are you all l-looking at me?"

"Can't help but stare at monsters," Anaïs said. Lila went white as sheet to hear her respond, but the unadulterated terror she emanated did little to satisfy the woman on the chair, who looked about ready to toss it a second time. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She sat down and released a shout, hands moving as if she was trying to wrench the wood apart.

"I could have done a lot worse than - than stealing a miraculous," she snarled. "I could have done a lot worse than _destroying _one. I hate this promise you had me make, Marinette, and you've made me break it too."

Ladybug whispered, "Your promise was to me?"

"You were the only one who seemed to understand. The only one!" cried Anaïs.

"What happened?" There was certainly a lot more to the story than this. As much as it horrified her to hear that the ladybug miraculous was to be cataclysmed in the future, it was vividly clear to her that much worse would happen than that when Chrysalis obtained the earrings and the ring. Surely, she would know the power they hold when used together; surely, she would…

Anaïs shook her head. "Don't make me tell you that too."

At the corner of Ladybug's eye, both Hawkmoth and Mayura flinched. As blood spreads through water, raw horror diffused identically through their appearances, not before they'd spent a pair of seconds to recognize the emotion that must have pulsed through their miraculous. It hit them both at once, quite visibly. Across from them, Anaïs brought her hands up to her face as if covering it would provide the same magical barrier as her disguise, the same wall around her heart.

Of course, it was too late. No move, no objection she could make would prevent her parents from sensing her emotions now. Hawkmoth bit his bottom lip and grappled for the brooch under his throat like he wanted to remove it, but he paused. He'd noticed that beside him, Nathalie had already thrown hers to the floor, that a sapphire light was streaming down her body with a high-pitched whirl while her miraculous clattered away from them, rolling past Ladybug and Chat Noir kneeling on the floor and coming to a stop among the pieces of Anaïs's shattered mask. He noticed she'd rejected the coarse dismay that had taken them upon naming Anaïs's troubling emotion and fought it with _anger_. Nathalie looked furious, but she also looked like she was trying to be. Her fallen brows were twitching, her lips aquiver, eyes shiny and gradually becoming redder.

"It's not true," she murmured. Anaïs froze. "I won't believe it."

"Nathalie," said Hawkmoth thinly.

Like she'd forgotten he was right there, holding her, Nathalie jolted, head snapping to look up into his face. "Oh-!" she gasped.

"What's going on?" asked Chat Noir, half-rising. Ladybug replicated his movement, with the additional act of setting her hand instinctively on her yo-yo. She had a sick feeling about whatever was happening now. The temperature in the stifling lair felt to have plunged, and she shivered.

Anaïs stood up again, pushing the chair away. Without removing her hands to look at any of them, she released a scream. A high-pitched, blood-curdling scream teeming with grief and wrath. Ladybug might as well have been wearing a butterfly miraculous herself, for she felt the pain in the scream rushing through her blood.

They didn't know what to say.

The rain had paused. But it began again. Each beat of a raindrop against the window was like a pang in her heart.

"You're going to make me tell you," said Anaïs.

They waited.

"He's dead."

The _weight_ of that word; for a split second, Ladybug felt that her lungs had been crushed beneath it. When she realized she could still breathe, she drank in a long inhale.

Behind them, Nathalie's fingers went limp and her hold on Hawkmoth dropped away. The anger she'd been trying to maintain drained out of her, and she seemed as precarious to fall as a house of cards.

Chat Noir was on his feet now. "Father?" he chirped.

Hawkmoth had his eyes closed, his fists balled at his sides, standing like he was waiting for a pain to pass.

"I'd sensed it," he grumbled. Anaïs's shoulders rose at his voice. "Your grief."

She told him, "Stop. Don't speak."

"At least three years, you said, you needed to go back," he went on. "I've been gone - that long?"

"God," Nathalie breathed.

"You waited to do this for three years?"

Anaïs scrunched her nose. "How does that change anything?" She turned her head to Chat Noir and Ladybug, who were slightly off to the right. "Is this enough justification for you?" she asked Ladybug bitterly. "Will you listen to me now? Will you give me your miraculous so I can _finally_ put an end to all of this?"

Ladybug was speechless.

"Do _not_ refuse me now. I just told you everything. My dad was _murdered_ by that psychopath with your miraculous and then one of them was destroyed. Isn't it fucking clear? Isn't it - it obvious? I'm trying to get justice - justice! Why are you just standing there?"

She could not answer. Ladybug pinched her earlobes and tried to imagine what her life had looked like three years ago. She was fourteen then, still a new superhero, getting used to the frightening circumstance of having _two_ super villains to stand against. Master Fu was with her then, and at the time she would never have dreamed of being handed the guardianship so soon. Even though one half of her life, the "normal" half had stayed nearly the same, she still felt as though everything had transformed in the last three years. These earrings were the only constant in that deluge of change. Even the person they'd been pierced to was not the same anymore.

Had she known then what she knew now, she might have gone to Fu, she might have told him that she didn't want to be handed the guardianship if it meant losing him. She would have told him how scared she was that he would forget about her or be forced to leave her behind, with little else than her instincts to guide her, which she learned now could be _wrong_, dangerously wrong.

But she hadn't known.

And if she had the option now - tears stung her eyes and she took a deep breath past the lump in her throat - she wouldn't bring herself to go back and tell him.

Ladybug didn't doubt that things could be better.

But she was responsible for the life she led now, for the relationships she had built, for the person she had become.

She couldn't change it.

However, coming to this conclusion, she kept silent but for the cries she let pass quietly between her lips. She'd underestimated how many times her role as the ladybug miraculous wielder would force her to hold another's life in her hands, and the thought of speaking another word filled her to the brim with dread and guilt, as though her voice could shake the room.

She couldn't give in to Anaïs, having just learned the world was three years into its new age, an age where people, some people, had learned to live on.

She couldn't deny her, knowing she'd be saving a life that wasn't meant to be taken. _A life she and all those around her cared about_.

She looked to Hawkmoth.

He seemed hardly willing to help her, but understanding that this was his life on the line, he sighed and spoke out, "Anaïs, I wanted to use the wish myself a long time ago -"

"I know," she snapped.

"We told you…"

"Of course."

"And I…" Fingertips grazing along the edges of the brooch's decorative white wings, he dipped his chin towards his throat. His expression darkened with memory. "I know...I know how _complicated_ this choice is."

"No, it's not," she insisted.

"It is. It is, I promise you." Ladybug hadn't seen Gabriel cry more than once. The last time she witnessed him at the point of tears was the fateful night be had hers and Chat Noir's miraculous in his palm, the night he nearly fulfilled the promise he'd sought to keep since his beloved wife had fallen into her endless sleep, the night he decided against it to spare everything in his life he could still hold dear to him. And now, his silver gaze was wet with the disturbance of that recollection and the pain of an equally heavy choice being dropped unto his shoulders. "If Lila wished me...wished me dead than there was something that she had to have brought back, and-"

Anaïs seemed utterly bewildered by this. "Why do you care about that?"

"No, my point is-"

She cut him off again, pale with shock, "How you could think the life of some - some irrelevant person more important than yours -"

"That's not what I'm saying."

But she didn't want to listen. She paced back and forth along the wall, slashing her fingers through her dark hair. "We never found out who it was. And it doesn't matter, don't you - don't you get that?"

"Ana-"

"Whoever it is, they should have stayed dead," she hissed. "There's someone out there breathing _your_ air, unless they were revived in a fucking coffin and suffocated to death. _I don't care_."

Ladybug was disturbed by Anaïs's words, her stomach rolling, and no one else appeared any more comfortable. Hawkmoth in particular was quite unnerved as he stared at his daughter, fists tightening around the hilt of his cane. And then, face contorting into a frown, he pounded it against the floor, making Anaïs jump.

"Listen to me," he growled. "Lila, or anyone else, might not have cared for the life she was bringing back from the dead, but the wish is only _half_ of the power you're asking for."

"Any other half will be worth it."

"You don't understand. It was the _exchange_ that _I_ wasn't willing to make," he replied, reaching back and grazing Nathalie's fingers. Feeling his touch, she grasped onto him tightly, and broke apart. "If you don't know what Lila gained in exchange for her wish, then we can't anticipate the cost of your own. Are you even thinking as far as to consider the consequence?"

Anaïs looked as if she'd been slapped. "What?" she said hollowly.

"It's already questionable, that someone who might have lived three years of this new life could be sentenced to death once more, without knowing why," Hawkmoth explained, "But you can't be certain of that outcome. They might have been the exchange for _Lila's_ wish, but why should they be the exchange for _yours_? In bringing back a loved one, don't you understand, it's possible you could lose another?" He brought Nathalie closer to him, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. "And I don't want that."

"But what about you?" Anaïs cried. When Hawkmoth couldn't answer right away, she advanced towards her parents, extending a hand. "No, you're not thinking straight! How could you? You must think I'm crazy, but I'm not. I know what's right. I've been working towards it for years. You're not going to die. I'm going to help you."

Chat Noir shifted his weight, looking as though he was thinking about placing himself between his sister and her parents, but he paused, eyes darting frantically between them as the space began to close. Hawkmoth shielded Nathalie, who was shaking against him.

"Why are you…?" Anaïs stopped in her tracks, noticing the protective movement. She dropped her hands. "Why are you acting like this? Like I'm going to hurt you? How do you not understand? I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for our family."

There was a spark of horror in Hawkmoth's gaze, cold and silver, but he blinked it away, dragging a hand over his mask to dry the tears off his face. "Ana, you...you remind me of myself."

Ladybug's heart lurched as she watched something _dark_ come over Anaïs. Darker than the storm clouds brewing outside. Darker than the rigid shadow she cast on the floor. Darker than the corner in which Lila crouched, where her olive eyes went wide as if she was seeing something she recognized and wished she didn't. Her hands struggled against the wall as she pulled herself to her feet, chest quickly expanding and collapsing with panicked breath. Anaïs never took her piercing stare off her father, who was realizing he had made a mistake by speaking those words, but Chat Noir noticed Lila rise to her feet, noticed her scoot step-by-step against the wall as if she stood on the edge of some very tall ledge, where below her, some awful fate awaited her. And that fate might have been in the hands of the dark-haired woman whose raw fingers had shut tightly into shaking fists, whose breath entered sharply from between her teeth, and exploded in a violent cry of outrage.

Lila shrieked. She placed a hand above her throat and used the other to point to Anaïs.

"She'll kill you!" she wailed. "She'll kill you!"

Anaïs's eyes landed on her.

"Like she killed me! She killed me! Fuck-" Lila pressed her hands to the sides of her head, her expression haunted and tightly wound with mortal fear. She stared out to some distant place, some distant time.

"Anaïs?" muttered Chat Noir.

Her gaze was bright and colorless.

"Don't let her…" Lila pinched her eyes shut and threw herself against the wall. "Don't let her, please. Don't let her kill me. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Anaïs's voice shook with rage. "You'll never be."

Ladybug had never felt this paralyzed before. She didn't know where to look. This creeping dread worked its way around her scalp. A dizzying panic confused her.

The moment Anaïs took a step - sharply, and in Lila's direction - Chat Noir surged forward and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"If you don't-" She struggled with her brother, trying to push him off of her "-if you don't want me to make a wish, then I won't! Fine! Fucking fine!" Her hand snatched at his baton and slipped it out of his grip. "I broke my promise already, I can break it some more! I can fix this another way! I can - I can ensure there will _never_ be _any_ Chrysalis to ruin our lives!"

Chat Noir hissed as Anaïs struck him in the face with the baton. Hawkmoth rushed towards them, letting go of Nathalie who reached back for him, calling "Gabriel."

Before he made it to the sides of his children, Chat Noir, after sustaining a second blow in the shoulder, lifted Anaïs off her feet and tossed her onto the floor. On impact, she grunted in pain, the baton sailing out of her grasp. She glared up at Chat Noir with betrayal deepening the lines between her black eyebrows.

"Figures," she spat.

Before anyone could make another move, Anaïs scrambled to her feet. Chat Noir didn't touch her this time, and Hawkmoth came to a halt, seeing that she was moving in the opposite direction now, away from everybody else.

But Ladybug was seized with fear.

"Chat!" she called. She unlatched her yo-yo, began spinning it. "The miraculous!"

He didn't realize what she meant at first, but then it hit him. The peacock brooch, laying amongst the fragments of the Sorcerer's destroyed mask. He started after Anaïs again, but she'd already made it.

Ladybug tossed her yo-yo, but Anaïs, the brooch clutched in her fingers, dove out of the way. With a bang, the yo-yo struck the wall and tumbled to the floor, scattering the silver fragments in every direction. A crack split through air as Chat Noir's boot slid over a shard that had tumbled his way; meanwhile, Anaïs pinned the miraculous haphazardly to her shirt, hissing as she pricked the tip of her finger.

Duusu flared into view.

"Stop!" Ladybug called.

Chat Noir had just managed to take Anaïs by the wrist when she commanded, "Duusu, spread my feathers!"

He let go, because she jumped to her feet faster than he could be taken with her. She was a blur of indigo as she moved, evading Hawkmoth's capture and sailing effortlessly under the dull light of the window. Ladybug just barely caught sight of her brilliant red gaze as she braced to leap, sweeping a final glance across the room.

And then she was gone. She burst through the loose panel in the window, letting in the rain. Her footsteps pounded on the roof until she leaped away.

Ladybug couldn't move.

Hawkmoth exchanged a distraught look with his son. "Adrien, we're going after her."

"Father…"

"We're going after her!" Hawkmoth searched about the lair, and finding Ladybug standing frozen behind him, he jabbed an index finger her direction. "Marinette -"

"Holy shit," she said under her breath.

"Marinette, take care of them, understand?" He gestured towards Lila and Nathalie. His wife, having been motioned towards, sank slowly down to the floor, glassy-eyed and a little green in the skin. Hawkmoth approached her, kneeling down and setting a hand on her face. "My love, Nathalie."

She said something, too low for Ladybug to make it out.

He embraced her and kissed her hair. Nathalie clung to him, but kept her eyes wide open, like his arms provided no comfort at all. He told her, "I'll help her, okay? I'll help her. We'll figure this out. It'll be fine. I promise, Nathalie."

She didn't seem capable of even deciding whether or not she believed him. Hawkmoth pulled away eventually, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, before he motioned for Chat Noir to follow him. They soared out into the rain.

Leaving Ladybug.

Feeling powerless of action of any actual usee, she spent the next several moments slowly winding her yo-yo to return it to her hip. Once latched again, Ladybug took a series of deep breaths, feeling the way her lungs seemed to drop out of her chest with each inhale. But everything evened out over time, and as conviction returned, Ladybug first approached Lila, moving as non-threateningly as she could manage.

"Do you trust me, Lila?"

Her bangs swept wildly across her eyes as she shook her head. "I don't know who you are."

Ladybug could not be surprised anymore. "That's okay. I'm going to help you. My name is Ladybug and I'm a superhero of Paris. I'll take you somewhere safe, alright?"

"Don't let her near me," Lila begged.

"I won't. I promise. You'll be safe while we figure this out."

Lila trailed behind her cautiously as she went next to Nathalie, still sitting on the floor with her head tilted up towards the window. She did not react when Ladybug placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Mrs. Agreste, we should go elsewhere."

No reply.

"I know this is upsetting. I'm sorry." Ladybug felt the pressure at the back of her throat that comes before tears. She bit her bottom lip and sighed. "I'm so sorry."

Nathalie sniffled. A few drops of rain fell beside them and she swept her palm across the floor, wetting her skin.

"What do you want to do?"

"I have…" Nathalie turned to Ladybug. She watched her own fingertips smear the moisture on her hand as she gathered the energy to finish her sentence. At last, she whispered, "I have an awful feeling about this."

"It'll be okay," Ladybug said, not knowing what else she could offer but that cruelly uncertain line.

"No, it won't." Nathale grabbed Ladybug's hand. She traced the black spots with her thumb and softly murmured, heart breaking in her very words, "Take me to my baby."


	20. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Hello, love."

As he held her for the first time, she was crying, her bright pink face scrunched up and her mouth wide open. Gabriel had her squirming hand at the center of his palm, and he _just couldn't believe_ how tiny it was. A fist much smaller than a strawberry clenched as she released her stirring little wail. His heart thumped in his chest as he listened, listened to her voice, to her furious breath, to those brief pauses between inhale and exhale where the rain splashed against the window before being drowned in her cries again.

"You're beautiful."

He didn't want to cry himself, because he wanted to see her as clearly as possible and the tears would blur his vision. If life was kind he could watch her forever, just like this, and never have to let her go. It was kind enough, at least, to give him this moment and let it last.

A hand clasped his forearm warmly. Gabriel glanced up and met the soft blue gaze of his wife sitting up, before her eyelids gently fell and she sighed through her nose and mumbled something she was too tired to tell him audibly.

Smiling wider, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. He let his lips linger there as he took in the smell of sweat in her hair and murmured, over and over, how much he loved her. He told her he was proud and happy and relieved and filled with more adoration than he knew what to do with, and faintly, she trembled with a bit of low laughter that made his chest expand with emotion. He pulled away and used his thumb to wipe away the tear that had dropped from her eye.

"My dear," he said.

The newborn baby, just several minutes old, shifted against him and grew quieter and quieter over time, until she was laying there peacefully in his embrace. Over seventeen years ago, Gabriel had experienced this amazement, when he was a younger and simpler man with so much more to learn than he was ever willing to admit. He remembered how brilliant and blinding his wonder had been then, and he didn't think he could ever feel such a thing again, but here he was. A lot different. A lot older. A lot warier, yet still, this vibrant and explosive feeling, it was the same. There was nothing like it in the world, nothing at all. If Gabriel knew how to freeze it and hold it and keep it forever, he'd do in a heartbeat.

He'd spent an awful lot of time striving for perfection in various places, and it was here; it was here stirring against his chest in a little pink hat; it was here to his left fighting not to fall asleep during such a moment as this; it was here in the pulse of his heart and the warmth in his blood. He'd gone through so much to learn that perfect was impossible, that he could be happy without it, but he'd found it now. He'd remember it forever.

All that time they'd worried they were only fit to lose, and this is what the other side had to offer. His baby girl. Healthy and strong and astonishing. As if light had become matter and he held it in his arms.

He'd even been afraid when he first felt her kick, on a cold winter morning when he was just waking up, and he rolled over to entangle himself in Nathalie's limbs. One of his hands had fallen over the curve of her belly, and Gabriel, who'd then been half-asleep, jolted to alertness as he felt a nudge beneath his palm, and then a couple more. Awoken by his movement, Nathalie's eyes fluttered open to catch his wide-eyed stare.

"What?"

"The baby," he murmured, reaching for her again.

"What about…?" She pressed a hand above his, and something like a smile (for she hadn't given a full one in months) brightened her face. "You feel her?"

He nodded. There was a rush of joy within him then, perhaps the beginning of what he'd feel come the middle of Spring in that delivery room, but those days were still full of so much uncertainty. Gabriel didn't know how to process this milestone when he struggled to convince himself he was deserving of any part of the journey. After all that Nathalie had endured and had yet to endure, he should have found it within him to bask in the elation of this moment, but as he sat there in bed, eyes on his wife as she tried to get a few more minutes of rest, all he could think about was how painfully real this was, how intensely different it felt from the first time he had a baby on the way, how it seemed to him that he had so much more to lose, only because he knew now what it truly _meant_ to lose.

Gabriel had never imagined even getting that far. It wasn't that he expected something to go tragically wrong - though the irrational thought crept up on him at times when he was alone and surrounded with silence - rather, he was so overwhelmed by their good fortune over the last year that he'd found it difficult to think much further than what it had already done for them. As deeply in love with Nathalie as he was, he was still getting used to thinking of her as his wife; to look at her and see the future mother of his child felt so far out of reach. Yet, it became a reality at the end of that previous August. Gabriel was nowhere near that perfect place he'd rediscover on the date of his daughter's birth; he was shocked and afraid and confused because this shouldn't be happening. How could he become a father again? How was that something fate could even _allow_?

They'd said absolutely nothing to each other while they waited on the test, and Nathalie said nothing now as she held the stick between her hands and stared awestruck. The way she held her breath even after taking that long look told him everything he'd needed to know. Gabriel suddenly felt the weight of the last seventeen years crash in all at once. He thought the floor was flying up to catch him, but he blinked his eyes to realize he remained upright, and if Nathalie was going to take in another breath before she was blue in the face, he'd need to say something. He said the only thing he knew for sure at that moment: "It's positive."

To call him scared wouldn't have done it justice. He was sick with dread. It wasn't like what he would come to feel over the next many months of hardship, watching his wife suffer through complications of both the past and present, the dread of losing what he'd decided he wanted more than anything else in the world. He dreaded that this was happening at all. He dreaded what this was going to put her through, this woman who deserved better than to bear and mother the child of a twisted failure like him. He dreaded he was being taunted with all the pieces of life he had no business living.

As much as a part of him still believed a part of that, he could see now that it was no taunt. He felt worlds away from the man who sat on the edge of the bathtub, pressing the shaking hand of a wife in dire need of his comfort while he felt his own soul sliding away into some fearful oblivion. Gabriel, failing to hold back his tears any longer, gave a choked sob as he closed his fingers ever so gently around his daughter's tiny fist. He kissed her round, pink cheek. He murmured into her ear, "Anaïs."

The rain hardened its fall.

Nathalie, who'd been bobbing in and out of sleep, opened her eyes once more and flicked them between the faces of her loving husband and newborn child, and she inhaled deeply, moved.

"I love you, Baby Girl."

Her hand fidgeted, and he let it go.

"I promise…" he whispered, _I'm going to do right by you._

_I'm going to do right by you_.

The rain fell in heavy droplets splashing against the window, against the ground, against the window.

Against him.

He was running.

_I'm going to do right by you_.

In the distance, she was a blot of color against the city gone gray, fast and desperate and hurting.

_I promise_.

Hawkmoth landed on a slanted roof. Water poured around his shoes and he fought for a moment to keep from slipping down the side of the building. He used his cane to steady himself, clenching his teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye, his son leaped into view, panting for breath. Chat Noir crouched atop a chimney with his baton clutched tightly in his fist. His green eyes darted towards his father. "She's too fast."

"We have to catch up."

"I know. Are you okay?"

He wasn't. Not remotely. But he nodded his head and made his way carefully up the roof, pausing for a second time at its peak. Anaïs fled several blocks ahead of them. There appeared to be a cape flapping in the wind behind her, obscuring her head.

"What do you think she's planning to do?" asked Chat Noir.

"I don't think she's thinking," Hawkmoth answered. He swiped his hand across his face to wipe away the rain and gestured that they keep moving. It was getting more difficult by the minute. Adrenaline had propelled him through this miserable day, but it felt now that his bones were growing heavier, or the rain was weighing him down. Each landing made him want to sink to his knees; each leap was in danger of falling short; each turn was slow and clumsy, and he'd nearly run into Chat Noir three times. He pushed forward, but his body was begging him to stop.

He couldn't stop. He needed to fix this.

Anaïs was quicker than them, and the further away she ran, the more her dark blue form melted into the hazy distance. When she disappeared behind a building, Hawkmoth panicked, only regaining his breath when she became visible again a moment later. She paused, going still but for the wave of the cape in the wind.

"Maybe she's wearing out," Chat Noir said. He ran a hand through his soaked blonde hair and shook out the moisture.

Behind her head, a branch of lightning surged across the clouds, half a dozen jagged prongs expanding towards them in a blaze of hot silver. Anaïs turned her body away from the rest of the city. As thunder cracked around them, shaking the rooftops they stood upon, she faced the Eiffel Tower rising far above their heads. She made for it.

"She's crazy. She'll get struck."

Hawkmoth ignored the comment. He was sleep-deprived and his legs were shaking, but he followed. All that mattered to him now was that he knew where she was heading.

As he and Chat Noir closed in, they watched her scale the Tower meter by meter, launching herself as high as she could manage before gripping a beam and letting her body slam against the iron. It looked painful. Hawkmoth dropped off the side of a building, rainwater splashing across the pavement with his landing. He used his cane to steady himself as he swayed forward.

"Whoa." Chat Noir helped him too, thumping down at his side and taking him by the arm.

"We have to stop her," grumbled Hawkmoth, half out of breath.

She'd paused on the first floor, and they caught sight of her face. Her skin was not quite as blue as her mother's; rather, there appeared to be a blue undertone that made her seem quite gray from a distance. A delicate mask framed her gaze, which she quickly shielded from view when she made eye contact with Hawkmoth. She doubled over for a moment, shaking out her hair, before continuing upwards.

"This is insane," Chat Noir murmured, not sounding as though he was speaking to his father by the vacant quality to his voice. His eyes burned, wide and round, like they were watching an impossible thing. He let go of Hawkmoth and took a couple steps forward, holding out his baton. His voice grew firmer as the moment of shock passed. "We'll ascend with this. Come on. Before she does something stupid or dangerous or both."

By the time they'd reached the base of the Tower, and Chat Noir had allowed his father to set an arm around his shoulders as he placed the end of the baton on the ground, which, when thunder roared, felt as though it might shatter under their feet, Anaïs had made it to the second floor. Flicking his wrist and willing the baton to expand, Chat Noir and Hawkmoth soared up into the air, surging past the first landing and losing a sense of the earth as the baton collapsed again once they'd reached high enough to tilt themselves over the second floor. The rain was warm but Hawkmoth still felt as though it could cut into his skin like the drops of a vicious late autumn storm. He and Chat Noir struck the floor of the second landing, making the woman standing across from them visibly flinch. Her cape was soaked through, the fabric clinging to her back and lying wrinkled on the ground where the last remaining centimeters fell past her feet. She whirled around to face them, and Hawkmoth caught sight of her flaming red gaze, bright and horrified. But a part of him was grateful that it no longer reminded him of his own.

"Anaïs," he said gently, holding out a hand. As he advanced a step, she tore her eyes away from his and held her fan before her lips.

She whispered something he couldn't hear over the wind.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't…" She shook her head erratically. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do."

"It's alright," said Chat Noir, mirroring his father's stance. "We're going to help you."

"No, you're not," she cried. Wet strands of indigo hair fell loose from the bun at the base of her skull and fluttered around her countenance, plainly distraught. Hawkmoth's miraculous never ceased to alert him of the pain Anaïs was feeling. It came in various patterns of energy, ripples and stabs of different strengths, different colors at the back of his head, yet all still communicating such violent agony. There was a storm alive in her as well.

"We _can_," Chat Noir said gently. "Let's talk."

"What more is there to discuss?" Anaïs dropped the fan from in front of her face. She looked over the railing, facing the clouds which rose above their heads in layers of gray: deep, dark, and thundering. "You've made up your mind haven't you? I know how stubborn you are. I'll not have the ladybug miraculous. I'll not eliminate the threat. So, how can you help me?"

Chat Noir approached. "We can find another way. We can figure this out, okay, we just need to - slow down, maybe. Have a conversation."

"We've had a conversation. I've had a million fucking conversations. I know they don't work."

"Father, please." Chat Noir extended a hand towards Hawkmoth. "Tell her. We can find another way to fix this. Another less dangerous way, right?"

Hawkmoth winced. He was numb in the legs. His cane kept him upright. And he didn't reply.

Slowly, Chat Noir's attempt at a hopeful expression inverted. Hawkmoth watched each feature transform until his son was looking at him with something like fear. "Father?"

"I don't know," he whispered.

"What do you mean?" Chat Noir asked. Anaïs turned her head halfway towards them, her red glare darting between her brother and father from beneath a heavy brow. "I hope you're not planning on dying by Lila's hand."

This probably would have meant nothing to Hawkmoth had he not become well-acquainted with the grief of his daughter, this sort of severe, lifeless feeling. Continuous, unchanging, without texture or depth, like his veins had hardened into cement. And because he felt this so strongly and so constantly, the explicit reminder from his son was quite unwelcome, and his face must have changed to something rather alarming, for Chat Noir cowered, and his ears went flat against his dripping hair.

"No," Hawkmoth responded. He didn't have the conviction to remain angry longer than it took to make that simple reply. He deflated, stammering on, "No, I just...we just...we need to talk about this. We - we're not in any position right now to be making rash, reality-altering decisions."

Anaïs released the railing. "How long do you expect me to wait?" she mumbled.

"This is all happening so suddenly."

"For _you_," she hissed, a violet lip peeling back. "But for me? I've spent three years waiting for this opportunity. Three years agonizing over the fact that you were _gone_. And don't forget, you were never meant to know about this. If everything had gone right from the start, you'd have never known a thing was wrong."

"But the butterfly miraculous?" challenged Hawkmoth.

"What? You'd never need it." Anaïs's glare narrowed. She looked at Chat Noir, standing halfway between herself and her father, and then at the brooch on Hawkmoth's chest. She chuckled humorlessly as her eyes brightened with the light of some sudden realzation. "I'm such an idiot. I was so hellbent on getting those earrings that I'd forgotten how foolproof my original plan could be. Could _still_ be."

Chat Noir and Hawkmoth exchanged a glance.

"For some reason you don't want me to help you by using the wish, but I can still help you another way." Her boots thumped heavily as she took several steps towards them, moving so quickly and suddenly that Chat Noir had hardly the mind to move away before she clasped his right wrist. "Adrien, Adrien, it's simple. You can do this. Cataclysm the brooch. No butterfly miraculous, no Chrysalis; no Chrysalis, no -" She hardened her jaw. "You get it."

"What?"

"My spells failed but your ring holds the power to destroy a miraculous. I would have done it myself if I'd made it back to my own time, but - well, it's so simple! This could be over in the next few seconds!" Her voice shivered with thrill, but anguish still twisted her visage, like she could feel Chat Noir's reluctance as clearly as Hawkmoth could.

He wondered doubtfully, "And that would fix everything?"

"I can make my memory-erasing potion again," said Anaïs. Chat Noir was tugging his arm away, but she seemed to have an iron grip on him, her fingers hardly budging. "When the butterfly miraculous is gone, I'll make you forget everything. You and Mom and Marinette. You won't remember any of this, and you'll be fine. We'll all be -"

She came to an abrupt stop as caught the look on Hawkmoth's face, and the quality of his movement towards her and his son, slow and careful and like he was afraid of setting her off. Her gaze flicked up and down, searching for a part of him that appeared convicted or a sign of anything but this wary skepticism and _pity_.

"Oh, what?" she murmured. In the heavy rain, it was difficult to tell if any of the thick droplets rolling down her face were tears, but the wavering look in her eyes told him she was crying now.

Hawkmoth did not know how to tell her about the smaller, quieter reservations mangled in his core, the ones which engaged in battle with his instinct for survival and desire to go on living, the ones that may not have even occurred to him had this twisted fate of his been looming and imminent and heading towards him with the speed of a sword swinging through the air rather than seventeen years into the future; these reservations - had he the time to think about it, that he would consider to be born out of reproach for his previous crimes and a fear of doing wrong out desperation at the price of rational thought, and not out of a sense of responsibility, not out of reverence for a substantial, ancient power - included a concern that eliminating a miraculous from a box would endanger some intangible balance, an unwillingness to slight Nooroo, who he had abused for so long, and above all this jagged-edged self-assessment which designated him unworthy and undeserving of any authority regarding the fates of the miraculous after attempting to dictate reality for his own sake.

No, he couldn't explain any of this to her. She wouldn't have listened. Instead, he honed in on the memory of an emotion he had felt back in the lair, something that surged crisply through a fog of confusion and fear in the head of the one said to take his life. Hawkmoth rubbed his hands together and quietly asked, "Anaïs, are you sure that memory spell works?"

His daughter flinched, dropping Chat Noir's wrist at last, but then she shook her head. "Oh, the fact she remembers I avenge you? Well, I made certain she would."

"No, that's not what I mean. You know, I could feel Lila's emotions too, and she was full of terror, but I don't know if you've made her forget everything she was meant to forget," Hawkmoth said.

Chat Noir and Anaïs watched him with a similar intrigue. "What?" breathed his daughter.

"Because I believe she remembers me. What other explanation is there for the hatred I sensed within her every time she looked my way?"

"Hatred?"

"Whatever you've had her forget, she has not forgotten how she despises me."

Anaïs pounded her foot and the floor thundered beneath her. She rushed at her father, crimson eyes stretching wide in outrage. "No, no! That's impossible! I made her forget everything about the miraculous, about you -"

"Your spell was imperfect. I don't know how much of me she remembers, but my miraculous does not lie to me. What I felt was loathing." He did not flinch away when she shoved her face into his, baring her teeth. "I want you to understand my point, Anaïs. Chat Noir might cataclysm the butterfly and you might try to wipe our minds of this miserable day, but if it is your goal to fix everything, then there's simply _no_ foolproof way to do it."

"Stop," she growled.

"Which is why," he went on, "we need to calm down, get out of this rain, out of these transformations, and take some proper time to think this through." He attempted to take her gently by the arms, but as soon as his fingers brushed against the sleek sleeves of her jumpsuit, she leaped back and threw herself against the railing. Hawkmoth had lunged after her, fearful she would make another escape, but she only leaned halfway over the edge and gutturally screamed into the rain.

"Father," Chat Noir said. He gave a helpless shake of his head. Hawkmoth felt sorry that his son had to witness this.

"I did think this through, I did. So many times, over and over!" Anaïs struck the railing with her fan, a metallic ring splitting through the roar of wind. "Do you know how many nights I spent just - just lying there thinking? Thinking, thinking, thinking, that's all I did! 'Think this through'?! I can't -" She gasped. She looked like she was trying to wrench the rails free.

"I don't want to die, Ana," rumbled Hawkmoth. "I need you to believe that, first and foremost. I don't want to die and leave you, or leave your mother, or leave Adrien. The thought of it breaks my heart."

She dropped into a crouch, pressing her forehead between two rails, her shoulders trembling with sobs.

He came closer. He didn't dare touch a hand to her shoulder, but his fingers hovered, inches above the drenched fabric of her cape. "Even worse is the pain I know you're feeling. I'm so sorry, my dear. You shouldn't have to hurt like this anymore."

"Then, what?" she cried.

"You might have already changed a thousand things just by being here today," he told her, "But if you didn't somehow, then I need you to trust that I and the rest of your family will do what we can to spare you this grief."

She glanced at him with alarm.

"You should go back to your time," he said, meeting her gaze.

Anaïs scoffed. "No."

"We can fix this."

"No, I have to do this. You don't understand."

"My dear, don't you think you have done enough already? You have given us the message, you have shown us a glimpse of this future. Time is not set in stone. We can change things -"

She jabbed her folded fan into his chest, cutting him off abruptly. "You don't _fucking_ get it. It's not enough. It won't be enough until I can witness with _my own eyes_ that something has actually been done to fix this, that I make it happen with _my own hands_."

"Anaïs, listen to yourself," Chat Noir broke in. The way he spoke was tender and sensitive. His words came slow as he warned her, "I believe you want to do the right thing, but this is beginning to sound like pride."

This appalled her. "Pride?" she echoed. "_Pride_? You think I care of pride now? You speak as if you know more than five percent of the story."

"I shouldn't have said that," Chat Noir replied apologetically, "What I mean is that I know you might think you're alone right now, and you might have viewed yourself as responsible for fixing this by yourself, but we're here now. We're here, Anaïs."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You cannot pretend you have this shitstorm figured out. You have _no idea_ what you're saying. I _am_ responsible. That's what you don't know." She pushed herself back to her feet, fingers tearing through her loose hair and plastering it over the top of her head, away from her face flushed with rage. Her voice pealed like a bell when she told them, facing back out into the city, "Chrysalis may have killed dad, but he'd be alive if it wasn't for _me_."

For a second, they all blanched beneath a lightning bolt's white blaze. Hawkmoth's heart dropped with the crash of thunder above their heads.

"...What?"

For a moment, her taut expression faltered regretfully, but then her eyes went stony, an affirmation of her statement.

His first instinct was to tell her she was wrong. The words quite nearly came snapping out his throat like a curse, as if he had the knowledge and the memories of himself seventeen years older. He'd be shy of sixty then, and he'd know a million things that he could not imagine now, like the possibility that there was even a shred of truth to what Anaïs had just told them.

Voice shaking, he said, "No, you can't blame yourself for something like that."

"I handed those miraculous to her." Anaïs looked at her brother, specifically at the hand he had curled around his baton. Chat Noir's eyes went wide, and he pressed his fist to his chest. "It's a blur. There's only so much I can recall. I don't even -" She swallowed roughly and continued "I don't remember watching you die."

Hawkmoth could have let his cane slip totally out of his grip. Her broad, shapeless grief within him went sharp and piercingly cold.

"But I remember dropping the miraculous into her palm, just _turning over_ the greatest weapon in the world like it was nothing. And I remember hearing her order me to find you." Bluish knuckles went white as her grasp hardened around the railing. "And I remember when I _did_ find you, because you tried to talk to me. You said, 'Ana, we're so sorry.' You were sorry? For what? I was the one pinning your arms behind your back and throwing you down at the feet of your executioner like it wasn't tearing me apart."

"Anaïs, were you akumatized?" Hawkmoth asked her. He was light-headed and shivering cold, with this bitter, electric taste on his tongue that he wanted to spit out.

"That's how she won."

"No way…" Chat Noir gasped.

"Anaïs." Hawkmoth approached her. He didn't know what strength pressed him forward so quickly, but he'd made it to her side by the time her name was out his mouth. He did not hesitate to touch her this time, his hand falling on her shoulder and urging her to turn around to face him. "You cannot think this is your fault, Baby Girl. It's not your fault. You _can't control_ yourself when you're being akumatized like that."

"I should have resisted," she growled, taking his wrist. Fingernails that had otherwise been bitten away were replaced with sharp talons under the peacock transformation, and Hawkmoth grimaced as they sank into his skin. "People had done it before, hadn't they?"

"But-"

"There was no excuse for me. I'd always known that Chrysalis wanted to destroy her enemies. I'd spent ten years of my life hating her. I'd spent four defending Paris from her treachery myself." She saw the way Hawkmoth's face lit up in surprise, and curved her violet lips into an acidic smile, a look that sent a chill down his spine when paired with those tearful, agonized eyes, glassy like garnet. "For you," she added breathlessly. "For you and Mom. You never asked me to, but I _did it anyway_, because I didn't want the world to see you as the villains."

"You were a hero?" said Chat Noir.

"A sorceress named Black Witch. Oh, I spent years _begging_ Mom to teach me everything she knew, and she did, but…" Her head hung, "You also begged me a couple times to stop. When I did something stupid or reckless or scary. But I didn't listen. I should have listened. If I had, Chrysalis never would have gotten to me."

Helplessly, Hawkmoth withdrew. He wracked his brain for something to say, but shock paralyzed his thoughts. He must have looked in danger of falling over because Chat Noir appeared behind him to keep him steady.

"Anaïs," his son said, "I can't...I can't begin to imagine how terrible this has been for you, but you are not to blame. Chrysalis is the only one to blame. You aren't responsible for reversing her evils."

She was shaking her head, her expression clouded with memory, a sharp and violent memory as Hawkmoth could tell by the harsh stab beneath his miraculous. "But she used me to achieve them."

"That doesn't mean anything."

She looked directly into Hawkmoth's face as she spoke. "It means _everything_. She used me because of what I knew. I knew you. I knew all of you. Mom was right, and if I'd just listened to her, or if I'd never -" She cut off as her voice cracked.

"What did your mother say?" Hawkmoth asked thinly. He'd sensed his daughter's resentment was strongest for Nathalie out of the rest of her family, and he was feeling it in the air now, how her bitterness was starting to fall in on itself, closer to her center of gravity, where the heart drops its lowest. And he realized her anger towards all of them had been a structure of walls protecting a deeper pain.

"I did something stupid that day," his daughter told him, her eyes still boring into his, her voice held just above her breath to keep the words from shaking. "Something with magic that I wasn't skilled enough to try, something that could have gotten myself and others hurt, badly hurt. I was trying to strengthen myself, to be a better hero, but I'd pushed too far. You and Mom weren't happy." Saying this, she pinched the brooch sitting on her chest between her thumb and forefinger, one long talon running along its grooves. "You were terrified and furious because I was in over my head doing something that didn't even need to be done, and Mom told me - she said - she said, 'I wish you never knew anything. I wish we'd never told you, that we could erase everything and start over again.'"

Hawkmoth stared at her, speechless.

"And she was right to think that, because if I'd never known….But I was too short-sighted to see it then." Gravely, Anaïs told him, "Chrysalis akumatized me that night, and I wasn't strong enough to fight her off. Everything - fuck, _everything_ fell apart, and I _am_ to blame."

Something dimmed behind her eyes, and with it, the intensity of her anguish slowly gave, bit by bit into numbness Hawkmoth could no longer feel. She stepped away. She looked down at herself, at the costume that was soaked through, at the miraculous crookedly pinned under her collarbone, at the bluish tint of her hands.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. "I can't fix this."

Chat Noir said softly, "We want to help you."

"_No_. This can't be fixed. This can't be fixed because _I'm_ the problem, don't you get it?" She shrank away as her brother tried to come closer, pulling her cape tight around her shoulders. "If everyone's against me, then there must be a reason."

"We're not against you. We're your family."

"You turned on me," she returned, gazing incredulously at him. "All of you. You told me to back down and you blamed me for your misery and you had me make promises that were impossible to keep." She glanced now at Hawkmoth, eyes brimming with tears, "And you _lied_ to me, when you said it wasn't my fault you died. But it has to be. For what other reason would have everyone else in my life -"

She went rigid as stone as he grabbed her by the hand, unable to keep himself from crying, "Anaïs, my dear, my _daughter_," he said, pressing her fidgeting fingers. "I'd hoped that I would never lie to you the way I used to lie to Adrien, the way I used to lie to myself. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love. But if I told you it wasn't your fault, it's because I didn't want to see you this hurt. It breaks my heart now."

"Dad," she murmured.

"We didn't know we would hurt you. That was never what we wanted. We wanted to tell you the truth about us, because we thought you deserved to know."

"Well, I wish you'd changed your mind," she replied, pulling her hand away. She gestured towards herself with her furled fan. "I shouldn't have been trusted. I've always been too broken to do anything right."

"Ana…"

"I was never going to succeed, was I? I was always doomed, and now…" She swept her dull eyes over the two of them, backing against the railing. A cold flicker of something hazardous passed across her face, though it might have just been the new streak of lightning through the gray sky above them. "The rest of you, you shouldn't have to bear the burden of my mistakes. You shouldn't be forced to make a choice this horrible, just to fix this mess I caused by existing."

Hawkmoth's blood ran cold, "Baby Girl," he called, audibly panicked. "Please-"

"No use," she cried, "keeping a promise that I've already broken." She turned her back on them, outstretching her arms. There was a stillness in the air, though it might have been the way the three of them held their breaths at once, creating such a deep hush that it seemed all the city had died for a moment.

She said, voice breaking, "Nor a promise that will have never been made."

Hawkmoth's fist closed around her cape a split second too late. He wasn't able to secure his grip before the fabric slipped out from between his fingers and she was plunging from the Tower towards the ground.

"Ana!"

Catching herself on numerous beams and plates on the way down, Anaïs bounded further and further away until she was on the run again. And Hawkmoth feared he knew exactly where she was heading this time.

"Father," Chat Noir choked out, grabbing him by the arm.

He yelled, "Hurry!" And the earth was rushing up to catch them.

Thunder cracked through the air, erupting like the feeling of terror through his racing heart.


	21. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Nathalie felt like she had been soaked to the bone when she'd made it home at last, raindrops splattering on the hardwood as she threw open the front door and stepped inside. She haphazardly kicked her shoes to the side, and the sound of them hitting the wall must have alerted Ruby and Jacques, who came rushing out of the kitchen apparently shocked to see her dripping wet, still dressed in her pajamas and a robe.

"Oh, Mrs. Agreste!" Ruby had exclaimed, bringing a wrinkled hand to her chest. "You got caught in this storm? You could have sent for one of us! Jacques or myself would have taken the car and - did you not take the car?"

Nathalie peeled off her robe, not answering. She only half-recognized they were in the room with her and didn't think to hand the drenched article of clothing to either of them. It dropped to the floor around her feet.

"You're pale as a ghost," Ruby went on. "Are you ill? I could bring you some tea, or some -"

Her husband cut her off, limply pointing his finger over Nathalie's shoulder. "Is that Ladybug?"

Indeed, it was. The superheroine stood a few steps outside the front door, just out of the way of the rainfall, and directly behind her was Lila Rossi clinging to her arm, green eyes flicking around the foyer, coming now to a focus on the pair of bewildered cooks, who, a moment later, seemed to recognize her as well. Whether as the unmasked Volpina or the severed former muse of Gabriel Agreste, it was unclear and quite irrelevant to Nathalie.

"Yes, that's Ladybug," she told them flatly, "And she'll now be leaving to take care of Miss Rossi."

Quiet enough that Ruby and Jacques wouldn't make out her words, Ladybug had said, "Mrs. Agreste, are you sure I should leave you? Maybe I'll stay nearby until I can ensure you're okay."

"I'm not. Now go."

She would be back, but then, she'd dipped her head and encouraged Lila to follow. Nathalie had the door swing shut before she sharply looked back to Ruby and Jacques.

"Where's my daughter?"

"In the nursery, madame," answered Ruby softly. She pulled a baby monitor from the pocket of her apron and handed it over. "Just checked on her a few minutes ago."

"What's the matter?" Jacques asked.

Nathalie, finding herself utterly incapable of answering that, had turned away and started making her way towards the stairs.

"Something's happened. Why was Ladybug -"

"Don't question it," snapped Nathalie. Their spines went erect, their spectacled eyes round in surprise. "_Do not_ question anything. It would be best if you retired for the day."

"But madame -"

"Please, just go." Tears stinging her eyes, Nathalie ascended the stairwell, leaving them to look after her, speechless.

As Ruby said, Anaïs was in the nursery. Nathalie, who'd had the intention of storming right to the crib and lifting the infant into her arms, stopped cold in the doorway as soon as she'd made out the child's face, turning to watch her enter. The sight of her felt like a punch to the chest; Nathalie's breath caught and she leaned on the doorknob for support.

"Oh God, Ana…"

The baby had stretched her arms and yawned. Her eyes scrunched closed, nose wrinkling, and then she blinked at her mother, blinked with that pale blue gaze.

Nathalie couldn't stand it. She felt like she was going to throw up, and she might have, had she'd eaten anything in the last eighteen hours. Whirling around, she had let the door slam on the nursery and stood in the hallway with a pulse she could feel beating in her head. Her bones had turned to clay. She sank to the floor.

Thunder shook the photographs on the wall by the stairwell, and Nathalie had turned to look at them just as the rumbles were fading away. Adrien grinned cheerily within several of those frames; Gabriel's smiles were subtler but his eyes were bright, especially in the newer photographs, like one that had been snapped last Christmas, or in the family portrait they'd taken a week after moving into the house. Nathalie looked happy too, because she had been.

And then there the photo above the top step, the one of Anaïs. Little and innocent and perfect. Forever, in that moment captured by a camera.

Nathalie tore away her eyes. She told herself to walk back into the nursery, but when she'd forced herself back onto her feet, they only carried her away from the door. Like she was possessed. And had not the strength to question it.

Several minutes later she laid curled up on her bed, having changed out of her wet pajamas and tossed her glasses onto the bedside table, where they'd made a sloppy landing and spun over the edge before clattering onto the floor. Nathalie made no move to retrieve them. She was wide awake with her eyes glued to the rain-splattered window, cheek resting on her tightly folded hands. She wanted to disappear, or see the world disappear around her, whichever would have sufficed to keep her from feeling this way for another second.

_What happened to you?_

The trees wavered, branches bending with a powerful gust of wind. Nathalie felt warm, but she could imagine herself out in that storm again, and the thought of being assailed by that breeze (and perhaps the very tempest inside her) caused her to shiver until her breath was unsteady.

The tears began and she didn't try to fight them. As the minutes passed, they rolled from the corners of her wide-open eyes down her temple to the pillow under her head. She was using Gabriel's, she realized, which only made her hold it tighter. Gabriel was out in this storm. She wanted him here now, to drape his arms around her the way he always did on nights she couldn't sleep, nights that would follow her for what she expected to be the rest of time; when he'd press his face to the back of her neck, hands around her midsection, pulse on her spine, and it would quell the desperate urge to run out of her own body and vanish into space - but, she thought, didn't moments like that always reveal the corner of hidden reality where everything she feared was made of memory and mere madness, show her the difference between a perfect present and a past she no longer had to abide by? She was a prisoner just that morning, sealed off from her beautiful, senseless fortune. And now…

And now everything really was…

Really would be…

It happened so suddenly. All at once. This hard and fast fall into a solid surface she crashed right through. Like ice. Like glass. And now she was sinking. The spirit potion tore apart that disguise and in the moment the mask shattered apart, Nathalie had _felt_ her. Somewhere in the violent explosion of emotion within her miraculous, somewhere in that instantaneous stream of unfamiliar pain was a heart that she made. It all had been too overwhelming to make sense of, as they scrambled to bring her to her feet, force her to look up, so they could see her face, see if it was anybody they recognized, and…

Nathalie shot upright as if the movement could launch her out of her memory to bury her face in her hands. The sounds of the storm pressed in around her, rain and wind and thunder, reminders of a world she was desperate to slip away from, and it made her so _angry_. She wanted to throw something, or feel something break, the same way she was unbearably aware of the way her heart was splitting, slowly and deeply. Nathalie wailed, because it should have been over by now. Her heart should have been left in a mess of lifeless pieces, but she could still feel it ripping apart, as if it could break over and over, break deeper and deeper.

What did she do?

How did this happen?

Her baby…

Nathalie brought her hands up to her chest like she was hugging her daughter there, close to the fractures. Her lips moved in the shape of many silent _I'm sorry_'s, and with each, her fury darkened. She was _enraged_ at herself for asking those questions, enraged she even possessed the nerve to wonder at the back of her head how they ended up here. She knew. How could she have let herself believe for a moment that everything wouldn't fall to pieces eventually? She'd been waiting for a day like today from the very second she found out there was felicity to come, when every promise, every gift would crumble.

She brought this.

She created this Hell.

In a mirror on the wall, hanging above a dresser that had been left in disarray, Nathalie met the gaze of this woman she hated, whose face she wished to shatter into dozens of pieces until every inch of her splotchy skin had rained down. She reached for the pillow behind her but felt her grasp slacken as she realized so soft an object would not serve, and that maybe, despite the churning wrath inside her, breaking something lifeless and expensive as that might only make herself more pathetic than she already felt. Nathalie's lurching breaths sailed more smoothly out of her lungs as the remaining tears slipped free of her eyelashes and trailed gently down her face. Suddenly, she was no longer staring a wretched monster, but a tired, heartbroken mother whose baby had not been held for hours. She hugged her knees and sighed, trying to will the pounding in her skull to subside.

"What am I doing?" she whispered.

It started to sink in, absent of the sense of paralyzing fear and rage, the awful phenomenon she'd borne witness to when the minute hand was positioned just 180 degrees away. A heavy grief dissipated through her. A lump at the back of her throat made her strain not to lose her composure again. Sluggishly, Nathalie tossed the covers off her legs and rose from the mattress. One hand - the injured one, with wet bandages that needed to be changed - curled around a bedpost, for gravity tried to force her down again, and though she rocked back and forth from toe to heel, she held her head forward and found the strength to take a step.

"Anaïs."

Her baby was still a baby. A baby who needed her and loved her, and who she desperately needed to love better.

Duusu's warning rang at the back of her head: "_You cloud your love with shame and punishment_."

Her entire world had changed in a flash, but she was still the same as ever, unless she could manage to pull herself together now.

The hallway lit up for an instant with another bolt of lightning as Nathalie's footsteps grazed the floor. She'd focused briefly on trying not to look back at the photographs, holding her breath and shutting her eyes while she passed by the stairwell and all the fleeting joy it represented with the expectation that she'd feel lighter once she'd walked far enough.

But when she had, and she released a relieved exhale, the sense of something wrong came very suddenly upon her. Nathalie paused before her office door like she'd struck a wall. Cold electricity coursed up her spine into her scalp. It was a feeling she recognized almost immediately, this pure, instinctual sensation that the environment had dangerously shifted, and she could not determine how or why or even when, only that it had. She was only feeling it now, once she'd shrugged her away her own nauseating discomfort and finally attempted to see with some clarity.

Her pulse quickened. Her mouth went dry. If last night had taught her anything of this feeling, it was that it wasn't something she could ignore. It wasn't something she _should_ ignore. She should be at her baby's side. Now.

But she didn't move right away, because she swore the sounds of the rain had gotten somehow louder, and stillness, for whatever reason, helped her better tell the difference. Sound had not been one of the things to change last night, when all along it had been an illusion crawling the halls, who provided no more than streaks of shadow in her periphery and an eeriness slithering across her skin, pressing against her cheek.

There were no such shadows and no such weight on her skin now, only the sudden certainty that the reason she was hearing the rain louder now was because a window had opened.

It was real, not a blackness bound to soak through her fingers the second she tried to lay a protective hand against it, not a creature so dark and ghostly that it should only belong in a dream.

Nathalie brought a hand to her chest, where there was no miraculous to be found, to feel the thump of her heart against her palm.

"Anaïs!" she called.

Her baby had been silent all this time, but that somehow terrified her more than anything.

Nathalie, for the second time since midnight that day, exploded with a gasp into her daughter's room. Unlike the first instance in the dead of night, she did not rush at once into action. She did not feel that violent burst of emotion through each and every nerve in her body, til ice and fire swirled from head to toe. Rather, she paused, the door crashing against the wall and herself going stiff with amazement, as it was not a protective rage nor a volatile terror surging through her, but something she would not be able to name with a thousand empathetic miraculous pinned to her clothes.

The wind sent drops of rain through the open glass across the room. A trail of water swept from the floor beneath the window to the side of the crib, dragged by the drenched fabric of an indigo cape stitched with red in the pattern of tail feathers, clinging to the back of the young woman standing with her fingers wrapped around the crib's railing. She did not acknowledge Nathalie, vibrant red eyes fixed on the infant beneath her head and face twisted into some indecipherable expression. One hand was held up, stiffly gripping her unfolded fan. The white feathers lining the leaf shivered, but whether from the breeze or because her fist was shaking, Nathalie could not tell. The baby stared up with bright, wide eyes, balled fingers placed beneath her chin. She seemed wonderstruck, perhaps by the bluish skin of this intruder, or her unusual gaze, or her deeply-colored clothes, or because there was something about this moment in time that possessed an energy even she could sense, though all understanding would surely elude her.

And to an extent, it eluded Nathalie, who knew what she was seeing, but whose mind had been paralyzed of all thought, except that _this was such a stunning and impossible thing_.

The baby and the intruder were still as statues, as was Nathalie while she watched from the door, so captivated by the sight that she hadn't taken a breath in well over a minute. She inhaled deeply, easing the tightness in her lungs, and it was then only that the intruder seemed to notice she was there.

Her head turned, and she caught her mother's gaze. Something about her was softer than she had yet appeared.

Nathalie whispered, "Anaïs?"

The young woman lowered her fan, lowered it until it slipped from between her fingers and clattered on the floor between her boots.

Nathalie had this bizarre feeling in the pit of her stomach that whatever it was she was seeing, she had seen something like it before, not, of course, as if it shouldn't be an unimaginable sight, but as if she was beginning to recognize why this person had shown up in her baby's room and why that fan froze in the air before dropping harmlessly to the ground. As she stared at Anaïs, one who was both a stranger and her beloved child at the same time, Nathalie remembered seeing a face like that in a mirror when she was younger, on an early morning when she'd woken up to snowfall after hours of restless sleep, and all of her dreams and many of her days leading up to this point had been spent wishing she would disappear, preparing to do something about it, until she saw herself and realized she _couldn't_.

Maybe it had been the snow, softening and brightening the world around her.

Maybe now it was the rain, or the baby's silent, watchful stare, or the sudden and inexplicable and miraculous thought that whatever it was she planned to come here and do, it just couldn't be done.

That second guess, such a rare occurrence in this family, was evident in the twitch of her brow.

The baby made a little sound, and hearing it, Anaïs's shoulders tensed. She sucked in a sharp breath and scrunched up her nose, trying not to cry. A pang in Nathalie's heart urged her to take a step into the room, but Anaïs held out a hand. It was sad and a little funny at first, though not enough to draw a smile out of Nathalie, to see a child whose cries calmed when her mother came and the same child who begged her not to come any closer. A second later, it stopped being funny at all, and Nathalie winced in pain instead. She stifled her own tears and gave a murmur, which might have been her daughter's name again, or might have only been a noise.

Anaïs looked back down at the baby. She made an attempt to harden her visage behind the mask on her face, but it faltered quickly.

"No," she said. Her fingers sank into her scalp, pulling free several more strands of dark blue hair, "Ana...no…"

One foot was feeling for the fan on the floor.

Breathlessly, she whispered, "You have to…"

Followed by a stillness, during which neither Anaïs nor her mother took a breath, a stillness, Nathalie realized a second too late, accounting for the lost convictions of the young woman across the room, who was fighting now to regain them.

She fought internally, until a flare of rage burst through her and she started to shake the crib. Whatever spell Nathalie was under broke that instant. She lunged forward, and what was once the faint glimmer of a confounding, impossible hope was now an intention to seize this intruder by the shoulders or by the hair and drag her down the floor, or better, throw her, hard enough that the impact echoed through the house, so she could know just a fraction of the fierce defensive violence warming her blood.

But Nathalie didn't reach Anaïs before this had already been done. A dark streak flew from the open window towards the crib, and suddenly, Chat Noir was viciously trying to pry her fingers from around the crib. With a scream of outrage, Anaïs clawed him across the face with a set of her long, talon-like nails. He recoiled, but only briefly, long enough to make momentary eye contact with Nathalie, and then turn back.

Hawkmoth surged into the room next, eyes ablaze and visible skin white as a sheet. Without hesitation, he swung his cane and struck Anaïs's hand, finally forcing her to release the crib. She yelped, going stiff as he clasped her by the collar and dragged her several paces from the baby's side. On the way down, she managed to wrap her fingers around her fan, but found no way to use it before Hawkmoth had her pinned to the floor in the center of the room by his foot.

"Don't you _dare_," he snarled.

The baby was wailing now, terrified by the jolting of her crib and the sudden explosion of commotion in the nursery. Nathalie wanted to grab her and run, but something about the energy surrounding her was telling her not to make another move. She looked at Chat Noir, who held out his baton, prepared to use it if Anaïs happened to spring back to her feet. A few angry red lines had been drawn across his cheek by his sister, though, despite the intensity with which he'd attacked her, he seemed far less enraged than he did distraught and scared. Hawkmoth took on these qualities too, after a few seconds of stillness.

Anaïs sucked in a thorny breath, red eyes beaming with betrayal. She squirmed and stammered below him while fresh tears trailed down her temples. "Why would you - ? You - you won't just let me - " She coughed and kicked at his ankle.

"Never," he replied. "This is over, Anaïs."

"It would be if you only - _let me_ -"

"Stop!" roared Hawkmoth. His arm trembled as he held the tip of his cane above her throat. "Ana, stop. Please. I'm begging you."

She eyed the cane, eyed its placement. That it was sheathed seemed not to matter to her. Hawkmoth flinched, as if feeling something through his miraculous. Anger and hurt darkened her face. A chill crept up Nathalie's spine. Her eyes flicked to the baby, and she began inching closer.

Hawkmoth sighed. "Now, _don't move_," he told Anaïs. Slowly, he bent over, free hand moving towards the peacock miraculous on her chest. Anaïs caught his fingers before they could fasten around it.

"No," she growled.

He attempted to free his hand, but she held on tighter, sinking in her nails. The foot holding her to the floor was positioned right below her sternum, high enough to allow her to lift up her legs and bend them around his arm. Hawkmoth's eyes went wide as Anaïs swiftly twisted her body, whirling her father off to the side. Chat Noir leaped back into action, but Anaïs flipped to her feet. With a sharp crack of her fan, she shielded her brooch from his own fingers and ducked under the baton, gracefully falling behind him to give a kick to the back of his knee. Chat Noir dove to the floor.

Nathalie had rushed to the crib. She was reaching her arms down to grab the infant inside, when a set of long fingers curled around her forearm and pulled her back up. Nathalie had barely met the wild eyes of her future daughter before the fan sailed for her face and struck her. Pain flared through her nose, and Nathalie lost all sense of direction as she was pushed away. She was unsure at first if she'd hit the floor or the wall, but after a moment of recovery, she found that she was still upright.

Hawkmoth was attempting to hold Anaïs's arms behind her back, and perhaps it was through the use of her claws that one of them managed to snake free long enough for her to nearly knock the miraculous from his throat, so that a look of panic crossed his face and he recoiled. Chat Noir charged her now, but she ducked, and his baton swung through empty air. She jabbed him with her folded fan in the collarbone, and again in the bicep, attacking his pressure points the same way she had done earlier in the day. She was clumsier this time, and it didn't work. Beyond making her brother grimace in pain, nothing happened, and he swung for her again.

"Ana, stop!" he urged her, dodging another blow by the fan. Hawkmoth had almost come up behind her again, but she narrowly missed his jaw with the tip of her boot. Anaïs glided under both of their arms, standing now by the rocking chair, breathing laboriously.

Nathalie wiped away the blood dripping from her nose. She didn't know whether Ana had broken it, but that didn't matter to her now in the slightest.

"I don't want to fucking hurt you people," Anaïs cried. "You just can't make anything easy."

"Nathalie." Hawkmoth and Chat Noir positioned themselves squarely between Anaïs and her mother. "Take the baby and go."

The poor thing was screaming. Nathalie's heart ached.

"Don't do this," Anaïs begged, stepping forward, watching as Nathalie made her way for a second time towards the crib. "Don't put her through this. Don't put _me_ through this."

The bandages on Nathalie's left hand were soaked through with blood. Her nose throbbed.

"This isn't the solution," Hawkmoth said. "I promise you, I promise you we'll find another way."

"Don't risk it. I can't bear this. Stop it, Mom!" Anaïs shouted to Nathalie, who was startled by the severity of her voice. "She doesn't _know _yet. _I_ know. Help _me_."

Nathalie leaned over the crib, trying to reach for the baby, but beads of blood still flowed from her nose, down over her lips and dropped onto the mattress, onto the little one's clothes. A hand that she'd begun to place around her body left a crimson print when it was pulled away in hesitation.

Hawkmoth and Chat Noir had both let out a curse over her shoulder, and Nathalie looked back in time to see them tossing aside the rocking chair Anaïs had thrown in their direction. She passed between them and swept the fan across their legs, casting them each off balance.

Nathalie grabbed the baby. She wouldn't move fast enough to evade Anaïs, so instead she dropped to the floor with her body curled around the child.

She felt those talons graze the back of her neck when a light flashed in the nursery. Nathalie had believed it to be another surge of lightning in the storm, but a full second passed of continuous blinding illumination. It was like a spotlight had been switched on in the room. She glanced up cautiously and squinted into the large disk of bright energy that had unfolded before her. A newcomer had passed through the light, who, when Nathalie's eyes adjusted, she recognized to be Ladybug, wearing now a pair of round glasses - a second miraculous.

Her yo-yo was wrapped around Anaïs's waist. She pulled at the young-woman and started dragging her back. Anaïs, exclaiming in shock, grappled for Nathalie's collar, and finally acquired a steel-like grip to pull her along.

Ladybug had vanished into the Voyage Portal. Anaïs was going with her.

Nathalie couldn't free herself.

The baby, crying against her breast, was going to join them, unless she -

_Let go_. _Let her go_.

With a stab of agony between her lungs, Nathalie released her baby. Anaïs yanked her through the Portal, and the last thing she saw of the nursery was her child sprawled across the floor, crying, covered in her mother's blood, and Chat Noir kneeling down beside her, watching them go in fear.

Her vision went white.

Wind ruffled her hair.

And rain hit her back.

Nathalie's skin scraped against the rough surface of asphalt. Still being dragged, she kicked her legs, attempting to find some footing, but it wasn't until another set of fingers pried Anaïs's from her collar that was stable enough to press her hands and feet against solid ground.

The Portal closed. Nathalie was panting, wiping her nose repeatedly. Somebody was at her side, encouraging her to stand.

"Nathalie."

She looked up and met her husband's terrified gaze. A pair of storm clouds searched her up and done, gloomy and grave.

"You followed," she whispered.

"Stay back," he told her, helping her to her feet. Nathalie's legs were shaking, but when he lightly shoved her off to the side, she remained upright. Long, unsteady strides opened the distance between herself and the struggle that had begun in the middle of this quiet street, a place Nathalie could not recognize through the pandemonium roaring in her head.

She did not wish to run far enough not to watch. The nearest fixed object she came across, a tree, she clung to, holding it as though it was the only thing that could anchor her in this storm.

Ladybug and Anaïs engaged each other in a continuous exchange of blows, of which the most ferocious were attempted by Anaïs. With a fan as her only weapon, the one way she could fight was at close range, something that made it difficult for Ladybug to effectively utilize her yo-yo. This disadvantage wore her down rather quickly. She was smaller and lighter than Ana, who probably had a third of a meter on her and several more years of training. Nathalie's heart lurched as her daughter managed to lift Ladybug off her feet and fling her down towards the ground. In a flash of light, Ladybug teleported right before striking the asphalt head-first and appeared again a ways off. Anaïs turned around as the heroine tossed her yo-yo forward, barely having the time to smack it away with her fan.

"Anaïs!" Hawkmoth cried, holding out a hand to stall Ladybug. "You won't fix anything if you go through with this. You'll only make it worse."

She paused, heaving, eyes flickering with the flames of fury, brow wrinkled in anguish.

"Just look," Hawkmoth went on, "at what you're doing. Can you justify this? Can you justify the pain you're causing?"

"It doesn't matter," she grumbled. "No matter what I do, it won't be the right choice."

"You're wrong. If you were to only _listen_, if you were to only _trust us_ -"

"You _broke_ my trust."

"We haven't yet." Hawkmoth gingerly advanced. A distant rumble of thunder filled the silence of Anaïs stunned hesitation. "Give us a second chance, or a negative first chance, whatever you want to call it."

She stared at him, mouth hanging agape as if she had something she wanted to say, but she did not respond. She staggered back, boots splashing through a puddle and bone-white fist holding her fan against her heart.

It took a minute before she next made a move. Hawkmoth seemed to read her intention in the stir of her emotion in his miraculous, for his tense countenance broke with a wrench of horror. Ladybug looked at him in search of a signal for what next to do, but he had his eyes fixed on his daughter.

"Please," he murmured.

Anaïs scowled deeply. "As long as I'm a player, I know how this story ends. I can't give another chance."

Ladybug wound her yo-yo in a circle, preparing to throw it.

A feather was plucked from the leaf of the fan. Nathalie dreaded to imagine what kind of sentimonster the emotions in this circle would yield. Her stomach churned. Her hold around the tree trunk was what kept her standing, for her legs felt like they could give at any moment. She wished to press her face against the bark and let the sounds of the struggle be swallowed by the wind, but she could not rip away her gaze.

Anaïs closed her fingers around the feather, but before she could infuse it with the peacock's magic, Ladybug hurled her yo-yo forward. An indignant gasp shot through the air as the fan was knocked from Ana's grip, and in trying to catch it, she released the feather in her other hand. It took to the wind, gliding far out of reach in a flurry of chaotic swirling movement, and the fan hit the ground to immediately spin towards the feet of Hawkmoth.

She looked between it and her father, glaring coldly. She would not be fast enough to retrieve it before he'd already taken it into his own possession.

"Stand down. This is finished," he told her.

But she smiled joylessly. "No, you forget. I've never been a miraculous holder, but I am a sorceress, and I know exactly," she said, backing up several steps, "how to use its power."

She held her hands out, palms to the sky. The blood thundered in Nathalie's ears as she watched a shower of energy appear at her fingertips, identical to the dark magic that collapsed into Nathalie's fist each time she had formed an amok. Anaïs's brow fell low in concentration, her jaw tightening. From between gritted teeth, she said slowly, "Butterflies? Feathers? You learn enough magic, you realize a lot of this stuff is optional."

A similar cloud of energy had materialized around her heart, surrounding the miraculous and sibilating like moisture on a hot surface. Nathalie's eyes stretched wide in amazement, noticing, just hardly, the gentle course of magic from around the miraculous to the stiffly held hands of her daughter.

Drawing the power out of the brooch.

Ladybug called, "Voyage," and stepped into the white Portal that appeared beside her. At once, she surged forth from above Anaïs's head and brought the string of the yo-yo down around her wrists. Anaïs grunted, the bubbling magic briefly fading in color. Ladybug flipped onto the ground and pulled the string tight to bind Ana's hands.

"Always been clever," she groaned.

With a harsh yank, she pulled Ladybug off balance. Anaïs swung a leg up and pinned the yo-yo string to the ground beneath her foot, forcing the heroine down to her stomach. She shut her eyes, the magic appearing once more, this time with a darker swell of power. In her palms, a spherical deep blue mass flickered to life, rippling like the energy of transformation. Ana's face was draining of color. As her skin went gray, her breath quickened, and the magic took shape.

A pair of cool, luminescent blue eyes appeared in the darkness. The energy expanded, widening the loops around Anaïs's wrists until she was free of the yo-yo and could stagger away from Ladybug. The sentimonster's head was quite birdlike. A shiny black beak grew out from between its icy stare while a long neck billowed into existence, after which - whether it was intentional or a result of Ana's inability to create any more of a solid shape - the body turned to hazy blue shadow. Wings like plumes of smoke opened wide, stretching almost far enough to block the entire road.

The beak pried open. Nathalie's blood turned to ice as it released an explosive, mechanical roar.

Anaïs was shaking head to toe, face contorted in pain. As if her arms were burdened by weights, she thrust them forward, and the creature's head dove towards Ladybug on the ground.

With a call for Voyage and a flash of light, the heroine appeared by Hawkmoth's side. He stood tensely still for a moment longer, before he removed the rapier from its sheath and held the blade before the both of them.

The sentimonster's wings heaved. It had no legs, but that was no matter. It moved as easily as water, unlike the peacock holder behind it. With another screech, the creature lunged for Ladybug and Hawkmoth, while Anaïs fought to stay standing despite her quickly escalating exhaustion. Hawkmoth charged back, slicing his blade through the air in effort to strike something solid, but the sentimonster rose just high enough into the air that he swung through the still-formless energy, passing through it without consequence.

"Gabriel!" Nathalie cried. She let go of the tree and stood on the curb, pulse racing.

Ladybug dodged the senimonster's beak, only for it to split the asphalt beneath her. She twirled her yo-yo, but couldn't find the opportunity to throw it. The sentimonster's glowing blue eyes followed her without relent. It rushed swiftly and unexpectedly, at one point coming so close that Ladybug felt it graze a finger. She yelped, holding the afflicted hand to her chest.

Anaïs's deathly pale visage writhed in agony and anger. The peacock miraculous continued to bubble with energy, and its red accents had blackened completely. Nathalie's breath hitched as she heard her daughter cough, an awfully familiar ragged sound breaking through the air that felt like it was meant specifically for her to hear.

Her nosebleed had slowed down. She wiped her upper lip clean and took an uncertain step in Anaïs's direction, into the road.

"Stop," she called, though she doubted Ana was paying enough attention to hear her. "You're breaking it!"

Hawkmoth's sword finally struck the sentimonster, creating a shallow abrasion that elicited nothing else but another mad roar.

Anaïs faltered. She dropped to one knee as a series of coughs poured from her throat, and the monster she controlled started to momentarily evaporate. This allowed Ladybug and Hawkmoth to take notice of what was happening. They both stared and dared not to move, and when they realized what was happening, their jaws fell open.

Hawkmoth said, "Baby Girl."

Anaïs's eyes snapped open, and she gasped for breath. Glowering, she forced herself back to her feet. She swayed, nearly falling again, but with a clench of her fist, the sentimonster took shape once more, and plunged its head in their direction.

Nathalie's bare feet splashed in the rainwater trickling downhill in the road as she ran their way. Hawkmoth saw her first, and he waved his hand frantically for her to turn back around. Above him, the sentimonster's wings churned like smoke rapidly piping into the air. Its crystal-blue eye flickered, a growl rumbling in its throat. But Nathalie was not deterred.

"Lucky Charm!" A burst of pink light generated a pair of elbow-length gloves that took flight in the wind. Ladybug spun around, but the lucky charm sailed just out of her reach, and while the creature stretched its neck in Nathalie's direction, beak unhinging to reveal rows of white teeth, Ladybug caught sight of her as well.

Nathalie lunged to the side, both to evade the sentimonster's potential attack, but also to catch one of the gloves floating in her direction. The second had dipped towards the ground, and Nathalie froze as it snagged around her ankle.

Ladybug blinked at her, and then turned to Hawkmoth. "Keep it occupied," she told him, before calling "Voyage!"

Nathalie was seized by the wrist and pulled through the Portal. They emerged in an alleyway, and Nathalie stumbled into the brick wall of a building, catching herself with her hands before she could crash head-first. She spun around with a grunt and told the heroine at once, "I need to help."

"I know."

"The only thing I know for sure is that I have to find a way to take the miraculous. She'll break it," Nathalie fretted. "She'll kill herself."

Ladybug threw a quick glance around the corner of the alleyway, searching the scene of the fight. She blew at the wet bangs clinging to her forehead. A ponytail hung down her back, far longer than her usual shoulder-length hair, and the horse miraculous seemed to provide it a subtle copper tint. "That thing is dangerous and fast, and I would prefer if you stayed out of the way as long as you don't have a miraculous, but Anaïs doesn't look like she can move very well on her own." She ducked back into the alley and gestured to the pair of gloves. "And I think my Lucky Charm is telling me you need to help out. The sooner we get you transformed the better. I wouldn't be shocked if thanks to Lila, the police were investigating the mansion now."

Nathale reeled. "_What?_"

"She doesn't remember anything about me and Chat Noir, so she insisted on getting the police involved. Looking for Anaïs. Maybe Hawkmoth too. That's why I had to get you out of your house. As soon as reports start coming in of this fight, they'll probably be on their way here. We need to resolve this." Without waiting for Nathalie to respond, Ladybug snapped, "Put the gloves on!"

Her hands and forearms were covered in her own blood, only some of which had washed off in the rain. She pulled the gloves up to her elbows and leaned back around the corner of the alleyway with Ladybug, heart in her throat.

Hawkmoth battling against the sentimonster alone was a frightening sight. It's great billowing wings whipped through the air around him, obscuring him from view in their smoky blue darkness. For a second, Nathalie caught sight of the tip of his rapier swirling through the cloud of energy. She screamed when the sentimonster snapped, unable to see at first whether or not it was successful, but Hawkmoth emerged from the smoke a moment later, panting for breath and apparently unscathed.

A ways off, Anaïs seemed in much worse shape. She swayed back and forth on her feet, catching herself before she fell by doubling over and placing her fists on her knees. The magic rippled around her, flowing in rhythm to her sentimonster's frothing wings, weakening each time she hoarsely coughed.

Ladybug held out a hand, prepared at any moment to open a Portal. "You step through on my count. Take the miraculous from behind. As soon as she stands straight again and leaves herself open…"

"What will we do with her?" Nathalie breathed.

Ladybug didn't answer.

Hawkmoth took a number of steps forward, holding up his rapier in menace. He maintained the gaze of the creature as it drifted back, neck feathers quivering with hostility, appearing almost like a rattlesnake in the way it warned of its aggression, but it didn't make another attack. Not while its holder appeared, for a moment, like she had nearly forgotten the fight. One of Ana's hands reached for her miraculous the way one reaches for their lungs as they struggle to breathe.

"Maybe he's got this," Ladybug said, expression sharp. "If he gets close enough…"

Nathalie raised herself onto her toes as if the extra few centimeters would help her better see. She folded her gloved hands to keep them from shaking.

The sentimonster looked like it had changed objectives. Instead of attacking Hawkmoth, it seemed more interested in protecting its holder. As they neared her, it began to raise its wings to shield her from view. From their angle, Ladybug and Nathalie could still see her, hair having come almost completely loose from its bun, red eyes dull and stinging with tears as she heaved for breath.

"Come on," murmured Ladybug as Hawkmoth closed in. The sentimonster's wings began to envelop Anaïs.

And just before she vanished from view, she shot up, outstretching her hands.

"Now!" Ladybug shouted, opening the Portal with a hasty call of Voyage. A chill rushed up Nathalie's spine when the sentimonster gave another ear-splitting screech of rage. Careening through the Portal, she was swallowed by white light and stumbled back out onto the street. Nathalie blinked rapidly to clear her vision and make sense of her shifted surroundings and found her daughter standing just out of arm's reach.

The sentimonster flapped it's wings. Energy flowing, Nathalie just caught a momentary glimpse of Hawkmoth on the other side, of the rapier he was pulling back to thrust into the creature's neck.

It moved to strike him. It barely missed. Hawkmoth hissed in pain as its beak grazed his arm, tearing the durable fabric of his suit.

Anaïs tensed.

"Wait -"

Nathalie leaped forward and wrapped her arms around Anaïs's body, trying to feel for the brooch on her chest. Her daughter exclaimed hoarsely, throwing down her arms to pin Nathalie's against her ribs. There was a flare of magic like a burst of indigo flame and the creature's face altered, it's bright blue glare flickering suddenly into place behind its head, its beak growing from the nape of its neck.

"I tried this once, you know," Nathalie grunted while she struggled to free her arms and search for the brooch. "I tried to die - to fix everything. It wouldn't have fucking. Worked."

She started to pull back, trying to get Anaïs down to the ground, but her daughter pushed against her force. They leaned forward, closer to the creature, closer to its fatal attack. Nathalie's heart pounded as she watched its beak unfasten. Anaïs opened her fists, magic flashing.

An index finger brushed against the miraculous. It was hot to the touch.

The sentimonster roared. It lunged.

"No!" A fearful howl rang out. Hawkmoth's rapier swung.

Nathalie grabbed the miraculous and pulled it free.

The magic evaporated.

The sentimonster vanished.

And the sword -

Nathalie dropped the brooch and heard it hit the asphalt with a tiny rattle, a rattle that sent this gentle, cool shiver into her bones like a feather was brushing its way through the inside of her body. Anaïs's arms had loosened, and Nathalie found that she could wrench her own away. But she didn't. She was paralyzed by this weight that had suddenly fallen against her.

Hawkmoth was standing right there, eyes glassy, staring, staring, mouth trembling...

Nathalie's hands were warm, not because of the gloves. There was...something flowing over them, seeping into the already rain-soaked fabric.

Anaïs's legs gave way.

"Oh…" Nathalie said with a sharp exhale. She went to the ground too and moved a hand to press her daughter's head against her chest. As they fell, Hawkmoth staggered back, pulling away his sword. A silver blade was shining scarlet.

The peacock transformation had drained away. Anaïs was pale and speechless and the stain on her gray sweater was blooming like a rose.

A silent bolt of lightning flung itself through the clouds in the distance. Hawkmoth watched as the rain from above drizzled onto the sword he twisted in his hand. Blood and water spilled down the blade until rust colored droplets trickled to the ground. A moment passed where he did not take a breath, he did not say a word. He did not even blink.

And then his fist relaxed. The rapier slipped out of his grasp and hit the ground with a ring.

"Baby-?"

He knelt down, one hand taking Anaïs's fingers, and the other pressing down over the wound below her sternum. Anaïs slowly blinked. She raised her head and squinted up at her father, blue-gray eyes making little movements as she searched every centimeter of his face. He wasn't looking at her. His attention was on the spot of blood on her shirt.

Nathalie watched her fingers curl around his.

She watched her move his hand away from the wound, telling him it was fine.

She heard her begin to hum, felt the little vibrations of her throat against her own chest.

Nathalie recognized the song. She hummed it too.

For a little while. A minute. A minute that lasted almost forever. Almost.

Anaïs stopped and tilted her head at Hawkmoth. A small smile, a small, sincere smile twitched into place on her lips and whispered something about feeling light and floaty, and also very, very sorry.

And he used his bloody hand to tuck some of her black hair behind her ear. He promised he was going to bring them both back to life.

She didn't respond for a while and they wondered if she had left, but she slowly curled herself against her mother and closed her eyes and sighed that she believed him. She said Mama stay still, you're shaking, and then she said You're warm, and then she said it was like laying on a thundering cloud. Nathalie shook some more because she started crying.

She wasn't one hundred sure that blade hadn't reached her too until she realized the pain in her chest wasn't from a stab. It was from something worse, something deeper.

Anaïs hummed more of her song. She ran her thumb against the back of her father's hand.

Nathalie thought about all the things that she had wanted to say two minutes or a thousand years ago, like that she'd once been so incapable of listening to reason that reason felt like a hammer to a heart made utterly of glass and feelings she was ashamed to have, like that it once didn't feel like it was enough that everyone loved and wanted her because she though she knew better than all of them, like that you need to learn what I learned which is that people love you enough to make this right for you too, even if it'll hurt worse than whatever it is you imagine lives on the other side. She couldn't speak, and she wouldn't have said any of this if she were able. She would have demanded if Ana knew any spells to heal fatal wounds.

Hawkmoth said his daughter's name, said it like he meant to ask her a question.

Said it like he wouldn't have told her goodbye if she'd responded.

At the end of her song, she took a deep breath and died.

Nathalie went still like the world at the end of a storm.

For half a second, she understood.

Hawkmoth brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle the cry in his throat. He was still holding her fingers. He gave a shuddering breath, he let her hand slide out from under his.

Nathalie didn't notice that Ladybug was standing over them, nor did she notice that a Portal had opened and that there were sirens in the distance. She didn't hear her the first time she begged them to get out of there as soon as possible and that she would stay and take care of this even though that was absurd. That was _absurd_. It was the most ridiculous thing Nathalie had ever heard in her life when she finally heard it the second time. But then Hawkmoth was on his feet, and he was pulling her away from her daughter, and she was fighting him, and she was fighting Ladybug, but once she had been lifted up, Hawkmoth was shielding her from view, and it began to emerge in her mind what was going on. She wasn't transformed and she didn't know where she'd dropped the peacock miraculous and she had absolutely no business being out in a storm during a fight by Hawkmoth's side of all people. So Nathalie went limp in his arms as he dragged her away and pulled her through the Portal.

The sirens harshly died as they appeared in their own house, as did the wind and the rain and any will Nathalie had to do anything but cling to Hawkmoth and sob against his shoulder. He plucked the miraculous from his throat and tossed it aimlessly onto the floor, because surely there was not a single part of him that could bear to feel what everyone else was feeling when his own heart must have been in pieces. He noticed that the blood disappeared with his transformation, which was confusing and cruel, but Nathalie was still drenched in it, and that's how Chat Noir found them when he walked into the room with the baby who had stopped crying, but only barely.

The baby.

Oh, God. The baby.

Nathalie withered. A weak cry sprung from somewhere deep in her chest. Chat Noir was asking them if Nathalie was hurt because he knew she'd been hit in the nose, but _that_ was a lot of blood. She didn't answer him because she was going to grab her baby out of his arms, and though he seemed uncertain, he couldn't possibly refuse her. Nathalie fell to her knees with the infant on her chest and cried against her like she'd cried against her husband, who was right at her side in an instant, an arm around her shoulders and another grabbing Chat Noir by the wrist and pulling him down to sit there beside them. At some point, he seemed to understand what had happened, even though they never said it aloud. He embraced them tightly, and told them he loved them, and that he loved Ana. Somehow, hearing his voice made it hurt a little less.

They stayed there for a long time. Until the rain had stopped.

When Nathalie realized she was still wearing the gloves, after she'd run out of tears to shed and allowed Gabriel to begin cleaning her up with a washcloth as best he could, she sank her teeth into her tongue and wondered to him if they should give them back to Ladybug. So she could reverse or fix or whatever everything that had happened that day.

But Gabriel looked at her, with eyes so like _hers_, and though it so clearly pained him to shake his head, he shook it nonetheless.

Because it was impossible for them to pinpoint when it had all started to go wrong. Thirty minutes ago Two hours. That morning. Yesterday. Eleven days. One year. Four. Seventeen years from the moment they were sitting up against the wall in the nursery, when Nathalie would say something she didn't know she'd regret, or when their Baby Girl had to watch her father die, or when he couldn't come back because the very miraculous they were talking out was going to be destroyed. But maybe none of that would happen and so none of that would matter and so the Lucky Charm in her hands had become a useless pair of gloves, which _knew_ Nathalie would have to hold her child as she died.

But either way, whatever way, they knew this wasn't the second chance she would have wanted. Maybe she didn't want one at all, but _she_ was still with them now, she was on Nathalie's lap. With a whole life still left to live, and on their broken, dishelevled hearts they swore it would be a _whole_ life.

They decided, this would never happen again.

They showered and they changed and they didn't eat even though they'd not had anything all day. Adrien was on the phone with Marinette for three hours that night and neither of them wanted to know what was being said. Maybe they'd ask tomorrow.

The house was quiet and no one came looking for them, except for Alain, who'd been in a meeting when Nathalie tried to contact him earlier and now was worrying that neither had been answering the phone all day.

That night, long after the fall of darkness and the clearing of the sky, they lit the fireplace in the living room. They stared into the flames for a while in silence before Nathalie stepped forward and dropped the gloves into the light.

The fire turned pink. The gloves disintergrated in seconds.

And after that, they went to bed.

* * *

**They will be okay, I promise. One chapter left. **

**~ Lullaby**


	22. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"_When we say goodbye,  
_"_Though I hope we never will,  
_"_We'll always have the earth  
_"_To hug us when we're still  
_"_And someday after then,  
_"_Someday we'll meet again  
_"_Someday we'll meet again_

"_I hope you'll have my heart,  
_"_And it beats there in your chest,  
_"_For I'd rather live in you  
_"_Than find eternal rest  
_"_Take a first last breath  
_"_Someday we'll meet again…"_

Nathalie gently pulled the baby's arms out of the sleeves of her onesie as the words of her lullaby trailed into low hums. A smile adorned Anaïs's face. Sometimes she liked to resist her parents' attempts to change her clothes, but she seemed in a good mood today. At a little past 10 AM, the morning was bright and blue-skied. Nathalie had unlatched the window to let in a mild breeze that stirred the hair hanging around her face as she leaned over her daughter.

She replaced the onesie with a yellow linen dress. Anaïs shook her arms and yawned, and she held still as Nathalie fastened a little white hat around her head. Having folded the onesie and put it away in a dresser drawer, Nathalie lifted the baby off the changing table and pressed a kiss to her round smiling cheek. Ana made a soft noise, little fingers curling around the collar of her mother's shirt.

"Pretty day, isn't it, love?" murmured Nathalie. She glanced out the window at the sound of birdsong. A tree's bright green leaves fluttered at them like fine flakes of emerald, and Nathalie took a deep breath to take in the soft, fresh scent of a summer day. It was the 27th of June, which meant her baby was two months old. Nathalie bounced her a little as they stood admiring the clearness of day, and she said, "I already miss how little you used to be."

It was going to be hard to watch her grow. Weeks ago, she couldn't imagine her daughter as anything other than the tiny creature at her breast, with twitching fingers and a small wrinkled nose and few tufts of black hair. Now, she could see her face when she closed her eyes, a face reminding her powerfully of her own, of that photo of herself above the staircase she had to take off the wall and hide at the back of the closet. It was going to be hard to watch her grow into that, into someone she'd already seen before, someone she never wanted to see again except for in the middle of the night and she felt she needed to hold something.

The soft rap of knuckles on the open nursery door pulled Nathalie out of the rhythm of her back and forth sway. She looked around her shoulder to spot Gabriel, hair freshly-gelled and combed, smelling like a shower, on his way to her side. His hand fell against her lower back, and with a low voice, he told her, "She's here."

Nathalie smiled, not with pleasure of any kind, but merely as an acknowledgement that she'd understood his words, that he wouldn't have to repeat himself, as he may have expected himself to need to do, since she's had a little trouble lately escaping her own thoughts long enough to make sense of what other people have been telling her. But now, the corners of her lips curved upwards joylessly, and she dipped her chin against the baby's head to whisper, "Okay."

He brushed a fingertip against Anaïs's cheek. "Hey, darling," he said to her, before his eyes, bluer than usual in the light of that clear, brilliant morning flicked back up to look at Nathalie closely. "I told them you might need a few minutes. _We_ might need a few minutes."

"Mm," she responded. She rubbed a hand up and down Anaïs's back, pulling her gaze back from his own.

"Two weeks doesn't feel like enough," he murmured.

"We can't wait too long, put it all on Adrien and Marinette to solve."

"I know." Gabriel followed her eyes out the window. He seemed to only notice now that the glass was open, that the sounds and breeze of a summer morning were floating into a house that couldn't possibly match its peace. He took a deep breath through his nose. "But let's wait a moment."

"Of course."

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Nathalie sighed as he pressed a cheek against her own. His skin was warm from the shower. His hold was gentle and snug. She didn't need to ask him to kiss her because right as the thought occurred, she felt his lips behind her ear, and then on her temple, and then she turned her head so he would kiss her mouth as well, with something light and sweet and meant to comfort, and it did. Nathalie felt his chest expanding with steady breath against her spine, and the baby's against her heart. The baby, who was soothed by the easy rock of her parents' weight from bare foot to bare foot.

"It'll be okay," Gabriel mumbled into her lips. His hands, folded against her midsection, tightened as he spoke. Nathalie tried to give him a real smile this time, and found it sadly difficult, but she simply leaned against his lips again and found the authenticity in that. They'd been telling themselves _It'll be okay_ for the last two weeks (or less, since it had taken a number of days before their mouths seemed capable of shaping the words), and it felt a little more true each time they said it. Really, it was _so_ little, but Nathalie found the deepest of her comfort in his arms where she was now, and in his loving gaze carrying all the weight of a storm in affection and sincere hope. Nathalie had been told she was magic, the way her touch could heal pain and lift burdens, but if she was magic, he was a miracle.

She remembered what she had to tell him in the beginning, when he went dark inside and Nathalie knew, though he didn't say it and would never dare, that he couldn't forgive himself for swinging that sword at the worst possible moment (the same way, if Nathalie allowed herself the space to think about it, one could argue she'd removed the peacock miraculous at the worst moment). She remembered cupping his cheek and stroking her thumb across the gray-violet shadow beneath his eye and whispering, "Set an example." Set an example. Because the baby had been in his arms at the time, fast asleep, and perhaps it would be in her nature to loathe herself for every mistake like it was his, unless he could teach her not be the keeper of her own chains. Begin now, begin with her in mind, begin believing better of yourself, that the sword was meant for the monster and you were trying to protect us and the only thing to blame for this was timing.

He'd stared at Anaïs, and he'd pressed a pair of fingertips below her sternum and let the breath shudder out of him. Nathalie clasped his hand.

"We did everything we could."

They had to convince themselves of that if they were going to move forward. Forward into a future where they still had the power to do something.

Nathalie sighed and glanced away from the window at last, spinning out of his embrace to face him. "Thank you," she murmured. "It helps. It helps a lot."

He smiled at her, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Are you ready to talk about this?"

"Are you?"

"I'm as ready as I can be."

Nathalie handed Anaïs over to him and adjusted her hat once she laid her in his grip. Together, they traveled out to the hallway and down the stairs, pausing as Ruby passed by them on her way back to the kitchen after providing Marinette something to drink. Nathalie extended a polite "Good morning" despite the lump in her throat, and feeling practically numb with nerves, she walked with Gabriel the rest of the way to the living room, where Adrien and Marinette sat waiting for them.

The girl could not quite raise her eyes up to their faces. She smiled hollowly in greeting while she bounced a leg and cradled the glass of water in her grip. Adrien rubbed a hand up and down her spine in comfort. He waved a couple fingers as his parents shut the glass doors behind them.

"How are you, Marinette?" Nathalie asked.

She hesitated, as if she was hoping to not need to speak so soon. "Better. If you can believe it." The glass tilted back and she took a sip, before exhaling heavily. "How are you guys?"

"Better."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

Nathalie pursed her lips as she took a seat in the armchair close to the fireplace. Gabriel sat with the baby on the opposite end of the sofa as Adrien and Marinette, momentarily surveying the pair before his glance fell to the infant's placid face. She laid a fist against his chest and the other to her mouth, gaze flicking around the room.

Marinette, who used to smile reflexively upon laying her eyes on the baby, saw her and only stared. Nathalie watched her features harden from where she sat, heart sinking a little. She couldn't fault the change in behavior after what they'd all witnessed just two weeks earlier, and she couldn't imagine what exactly Marinette had been through trying to handle the aftermath of the situation. Nathalie and Gabriel had heard none of the story from the girl herself, but from Adrien, who'd only told enough to reassure them that they wouldn't be pursued by any law enforcement. Despite the police discovering the empty lair (attic) above the mansion, they had no reason to find its owners suspicious, not after both Ladybug and Chat Noir insisted that it was the _Sorcerer's_ place of hiding - the Sorcerer, who had never been spotted by any additional witnesses, but who's dangerous endeavor had been ineloquently described by a dazed Lila Rossi and more or less confirmed by a pair of heroes putting a great amount of energy into holding their composure.

"We made an official agreement, you know, a long time ago," Adrien had told them late at night, while all three sat in near darkness at the dining room table after failing to sleep, "Unless their involvement be specifically requested, all miraculous-related conflict would be the responsibility of Ladybug and Chat Noir, who would have authority over city law enforcement - except, you know, if a lot of people were dying or getting hurt beyond the usual akuma stuff."

Luckily this case had only taken one life, and Ladybug had told the police that it belonged to somebody who'd messed with miraculous magic to come from the future. At that point it was far out of their realm of expertise, anyway.

Now, Adrien looked between his parents, heaving a sigh. "Alright," he mumbled. "So, where should we begin?"

Marinette leaned forward to set her glass on the coffee table and rose to her feet. Taking a stance further across the room where she could face everybody else, she brushed some hair behind her ear and said, "Probably with the most pressing issue, which is what to do with Lila." Immediately, she must have felt the energy in the room shift, because she held out her hands like she was trying to prevent an outcry of contempt. Nathalie, for one, found herself on the verge of a hateful sneer when Marinette moved to stop them.

"What?" she said, curling her fingers over the arms of the chair. "Is our disdain not justified?"

"It's justified. It's also complicated."

"Not very. Regardless of the crimes she has yet to commit, she's done quite atrocious things in the past she still has to answer for."

"I know, and I'm not denying it. The girl probably wanted me dead in a ditch only a couple weeks ago." Marinette put her hands on the back of her neck and looked to the ceiling. "It's...it's not that simple. I wish it was, that we could just condemn her for her willing compliance with the - the Sorcerer, and under normal circumstances I probably wouldn't hesitate a moment, but the whole thing with her mind getting scrambled makes this harder to work out, that's all. And that's why I'm bringing it to you. I could have handled it myself, but it's something that we all needed to talk about."

"Just because her memories were erased doesn't mean her actions were," Nathalie replied. She gestured to her husband and the child in his arms. "She used an illusion to spy on this house and threaten my daughter. I can't let that go."

"I'm not asking you to. Please, be angry about it. I'm angry too."

"Then what's your point, Marinette?" asked Nathalie, quirking an eyebrow.

"I guess my point is, what is the purpose of punishment?" Marinette posed. She looked around the room. "There's two ways to look at it, right? Punishment as an act of teaching and punishment as an act of justice."

"Yeah…" said Adrien, folding his hands. "Lila is...kind of unteachable isn't she?"

Gabriel scoffed. "Because she's a psychopath."

"More importantly," Marinette said with a touch of exasperation, "Cause she's broken. As Ladybug, I've talked with her multiple times since the incident. She doesn't remember anything. No Volpina, no Conspiracy, no Ladybug or Chat Noir or anything really about the last four years that has to do akumas, aside from Hawkmoth himself - but even then, the thoughts are fuzzy. She really only remembers a feeling."

"How much she loathes me," Gabriel muttered.

"Yes, but what I'm trying to say is if the function of punishment is to correct behavior, then Lila has to know what behavior is being corrected, right? And she doesn't."

"How do you know?" Nathalie questioned, narrowing her eyes. "She may have forgotten everything at first, but who's to say it isn't going to come back to her, that it hasn't already and she's just lying to preserve her innocence?"

"Well, I know she isn't lying. Lila might be notoriously good at fooling people, but she's never been able to fool me."

No one could argue with that, but it didn't quite ease the minds of anyone in the room. A tense pause stretched on for a number of seconds.

Marinette crossed her arms, looking down at the floor between her feet. "I guess I'm saying, we don't know for sure that her memories won't eventually recover, but I'd like to do something about her beforehand, if they do. I know her mother has been trying to take her to a neurologist, but because the issue is magical, they won't be able to help. She needs intensive therapy to deal with...everything. I mean, the trauma of what happened to her, but also all her anger and compulsive lying and - you know, I've wondered if she just got help that it could have fixed - not fixed, but mitigated this."

"You're much more forgiving than we are," grumbled Gabriel.

"You can see it that way, but this is practical too," she replied, blue eyes flicking up from beneath her bangs. "Look, I know it doesn't seem harsh enough, but if - if what we came here to talk about today is how to prevent all of this from repeating itself, then this is just one more thing we can do. If Lila gets help, if we get her into a position where she can work through all of that resentment, she could have a lot less incentive to do something horrific in the future. Even if it's no longer about me anymore, you," she pointed at Gabriel, "you could still be in danger."

Adrien glanced at his father and leaned over to grasp his arm. "I think she's right. Imagine we punish her, that will only make her more bitter. Even if it feels like justice, it'll just start another fire. That's how Lila is."

With a sigh, Nathalie leaned back and pressed her fingertips up under her glasses. Her eyes were stinging and the back of her throat ached with the threat of oncoming tears.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" asked Gabriel faintly. He was half a room away, but the warmth of concern in his voice made him feel a lot closer.

She opened her eyes and peered towards him, staring softly at the baby in his arms. "I don't know. I don't know, I just - I -" She threw out a hand at Marinette, "She's _right_, but that's not an easy pill to swallow. I'm _livid_ about everything. You know, I wish she'd hadn't had her memories erased. At least then nobody would have any qualms about giving her what she deserved."

Anaïs fussed as her mother raised her voice into a harsh shout. Sucking in a breath, Nathalie put a palm to her chest and blinked the tears out of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, love," she whispered.

Gabriel bounced the infant, calming her down at once. He looked up at Nathalie with sympathy. "I feel the same way," he told her. "But they have a point."

"I understand your rage," Marinette insisted. "But being around Lila, I'm sure that if you were in my position to see how this was affecting her, it'd be a lot easier to get where I was coming from, and maybe a lot harder to think that giving her some terrible sentence was appropriate."

Nathalie, chest still tight with frustration and outrage, said between her teeth, "See to it, Marinette, that she gets that therapy."

"I will."

"And remember," Adrien chimed in, turning to Nathalie, "it's not a secret anymore than Lila partook in this plot willingly. Memory loss or no memory loss, other people know what her true intentions were at the start of all of this."

She nodded at him, chewing the inside of her cheek.

"Well, with that spoken about, what next?" asked Marinette.

A hush fell over the room and persisted for far longer than what was comfortable. The only thing Nathalie could sense in that time was the pulse of her heart beneath her hand and somewhere deep within her skull. She swallowed dryly, fingernails biting into the arm of the chair.

"I mean," Marinette's voice was feather-light, "If it's more comfortable to take this day by day…"

"No," Gabriel decided, "We're not dragging this out. The sooner everything is settled, the better. This conversation is not even the hard part."

"So, do you know what you're going to do?" asked Adrien. Gabriel and Nathalie looked to him, who was staring at the baby, the meaning of his words abundantly clear in the way his green eyes roundly and anxiously gleamed, the way he leaned forward with his fingers linked over a bouncing leg. As Gabriel and Nathalie exchanged a long, steel-hard look with each other, he went on, "You've been quiet about it. I didn't want to ask before now, because - well, because there's still a lot of time. But I know it's probably been on your minds. And ultimately, Marinette and I will have to know too."

Gabriel cleared his throat. "We agreed -"

"No, we didn't," Nathalie interrupted.

Taken aback, Gabriel flinched. The baby blinked at him and reached up to curl her fingers around his tie. "We said we'd -"

"No," Nathalie repeated sharply. "We didn't."

"Nathalie."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, tearing her gaze away to focus on an empty space on the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm not ready to talk about it. I'm having second thoughts."

His words stumbled out saturated with surprise. "That's alright. You hadn't mentioned…"

"Just now," she added.

"We don't have to commit to anything yet, Nathalie, it's fine."

She hadn't noticed that he'd risen off the sofa and come to kneel down by her side. Nathalie turned her head when she felt his fingers clasp around her forearm, sinking teeth into her lip when she locked eyes with Anaïs. The little girl rounded her mouth in the shape of a little 'o'. Nathalie lifted her hand as though she was lifting a rock in its place, and slowly went to pull the hat down a little further. It looked about ready to fall off. Some of Anaïs's dark hair was visible.

"We'll talk about it," he whispered.

Over his shoulder, Adrien stood up and drifted towards Marinette on the other side of the coffee table. He grasped her shoulder, leaned in, and asked a question under his breath, something Nathalie couldn't make out. Marinette answered back with a slight dip of her head and accepted a kiss on the cheek from her boyfriend before he stepped away.

"What is it?" murmured Nathalie.

"Oh, uh, well," Adrien stammered. He waved a hand towards Marinette. "I guess there's one more thing, then."

Gabriel's eyes darted around the room. His thick, pale brow furrowed at them and he asked. "I've just realized, where are your kwamis?"

Marinette lips curled into a lopsided smile. "They're here." She reached into her pocket and dropped a number of jewels onto the coffee table by her abandoned water glass. Two earrings, two brooches, and a ring clattered down, bright in color, indicating that the kwamis were still inside. Nathalie tensed, cold spreading over her skin as she laid eyes on the peacock and butterfly miraculous again. Marinette had taken both into her possession after the incident, and Nathalie had not expected to see them so soon. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the chair.

Adrien picked up his ring, but he didn't immediately put it on, only cupped it in the palm of his hand as he gingerly watched Marinette's posture falter while she looked over the miraculous on the table. "They know what's going on, but they didn't want to be around to hear us talk about it."

"What do you mean? About what?" Nathalie asked.

"Well," he began with a deep exhale, "if you guys aren't ready to make a decision about what to tell Anaïs, that's okay, of course, but Marinette and I were talking about something over the last few days, and it could make that easier for you."

"What is it?" prompted Gabriel.

Marinette's fingers trembled as she reached for her earrings, picking them up one at a time, observing the way they sat in her hand for a moment before looking up. "I've decided," she whispered, her voice hardly audible. She coughed once into her fist and rolled back her shoulders to say, "I've decided to send the miraculous box back to the temple in Tibet."

Neither Nathalie nor Gabriel said anything in response to this announcement. Nathalie wasn't sure if she'd be able to if she tried, with the way Marinette's words stole the breath out of her lungs. She could only manage to stare helplessly between the young heroine and her partner, who seemed rather eager to hear some kind of reply.

Gabriel's lips parted like he meant to speak, but he only broke out of the rigidity that possessed him to adjust his hold of Anaïs, after which he went stiff again, and still failed to talk at all.

"It's something I probably wouldn't have ever dreamed of doing before all of this happened," Marinette went on to explain. "The guardianship and my duty as a superhero have always felt too heavy of a responsibility to ever abandon. And I love being Ladybug, that's no secret, but…" She sighed, closing her fist around the earrings. "Love should be no deciding factor."

Nathalie stepped towards Marinette. She wanted to say, _Impossible_, but she was still breathless with shock. Impossible was how it felt. She knew, of course, that Marinette wouldn't always have ownership over the box, nor over those earrings she'd worn unceasingly for the last four years, but it had been such a far away thought that it seemed inconceivable now.

"Well, in regards to Anaïs," muttered Marinette, her convictions, which had already been wavering, now apparently breaking apart, "You wouldn't have to worry about her wanting to take up the role of a superhero if she has no means to become one."

"That - that's why?" Gabriel demanded, silence breaking with a sharp crack of his voice that made the girl wince. "That's why you're making this drastic of a choice?"

"It _seems_ drastic." Marinette shook her head. "I mean, it is. I know it is. But yes. It's _one_ reason, and I thought it would have been enough."

"Don't misunderstand me. I'd be grateful for anything you try to help us with this problem, but are you sure?" Gabriel asked. "How do you know Paris won't need Ladybug and Chat Noir in the future?"

"What would they need us for if there are no miraculous to fall into the wrong hands?" Marinette countered. "Not only is this a way to prevent Lila from ever touching the butterfly, but it would also eliminate the threat from any other potential super villain looking for trouble, wouldn't it?"

Gabriel blinked, absorbing her words.

"The only reason we were needed in the first place was to combat you, someone with a miraculous. Not some random bad guy with no magic. That's not what it's for."

"I didn't, I didn't think…" As he trailed off, he stepped back against the sofa and dropped down into his seat. The baby bounced in his arms.

"Marinette," Nathalie breathed, regaining her voice at last. "This is a huge sacrifice."

"I don't know if it is," she replied to Nathalie's astonishment. "More than anything it feels selfish of me."

"Selfish?"

"Yeah, and do you know why?" Marinette grabbed Adrien's hand and stood near enough to him that their arms touched as well. He turned and kissed the top of her head while her eyes began to glisten with tears under the light of the window she faced, beyond which was a city that didn't know that their beloved Ladybug was ready to disappear. "Because I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to have the weight of Paris, and now this family's future on my back just because two years ago, my one and only mentor found it necessary to drop off the face of the earth to protect himself." She paused to inhale roughly, breath shaking with oncoming tears. "I know I'm going to feel guilty for this, because he trusted me, but honestly, the task he trusted me with before he left, to protect Paris from Hawkmoth, well," she gave a small laugh, "that's behind us."

Adrien solemnly nodded, squeezing his girlfriend's hand. "And it'll stay behind us. We won't ever have to see another Hawkmoth."

Nathalie leaned her cheek into her palm. "And you agree with this, Adrien?"

His step-son glanced her way, and his green eyes, always so expressive and vibrant, were flickering like the wind-rustled leaves outside with the light of myriad emotions. "Not at first. I'm still working through it, to be honest." He looked at the ring in his other hand, face falling. "I don't think I would agree at all if it wasn't a pretty much foolproof way to save Ana, but I want what's best for Marinette too. She's - _we've_ \- had the weight of the world on our shoulders since we were kids, and we still kind of are kids. We can't stay that way forever."

Nathalie had to back away a couple paces as Adrien's words started to sink in. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed since all of this had begun, but here her step-son stood, still a few months from eighteen, when it had only been a little more than a couple years ago that by chance she'd discovered his deepest secret and chose to keep hers a little longer, swept up by a whirlwind of emotions she'd barely been strong enough to withstand. Nathalie had _felt_ more than a person should have to feel in their life, and even if it hadn't started with the miraculous, the miraculous had made some of the sharpest edges, some of the darkest nights.

"I can't believe it," she whispered.

"Neither can I." Marinette peeled away from her boyfriend and examined the earrings in her hand. "I mean, for once, I'd like to let go. I think I need to let go. When you think about it, we've been given a unique gift, to erase the story already written and make a new one. I just don't want to regret it. I'm scared to regret anything. But I feel like every day of my life has been about making the right choice and finding the right answer, and most times I get it, sometimes I don't. But now I'm just…" Sullenly, Marinette sank to the floor, crossing her legs and blowing the bangs out of her face. "I'm just tired."

Adrien knelt down beside her and pulled her close, so that her head rested against his shoulder. Nathalie watched them, a pang of sympathy aching behind her ribs. "Marinette," she said gently, "I think it's good for you. Truly."

"Yeah?"

"And I can't say I wouldn't have thought of doing the same thing myself."

The younger woman looked down at her hands. "It wasn't actually my idea." She scooted herself closer to the coffee table and plucked the butterfly miraculous by one of its silver wings. Then, she tossed it at Gabriel, who caught it in his free hand. "It was Nooroo's."

His eyes hardened into blue stone. "Nooroo?"

"I think he knew what I was feeling," she murmured. "And he knew what I would need."

"He's good at that," replied Nathalie affectedly.

"You know, I'm not going to send the box back until I've sorted everything out with Lila first, and I thought you might want some time with them before saying goodbye." Marinette grabbed the peacock brooch as well, and Nathalie came forward to have it pressed to the center of her palm. "I checked it over, by the way. There was a little bit of damage caused by Anaïs's sorcery, but it was a lot easier to fix than the first time."

Nathalie thanked her and slipped the brooch into her pocket, a chill shooting through her fingertips as she remembered the last person to touch it before the guardian was her own daughter. "That miraculous has been through a lot."

"Just like the rest of us."

A flash at the corner of her eye made Nathalie spin to face the sofa, above which a halo of purple light appeared in midair to yield the butterfly kwami blinking his eyes to adjust to the surroundings. Below him sat Gabriel, with the violet jewel pinned to the collar of his shirt, and his hand clutching the baby's to keep her from trying to pull it free. Her pale blue eyes were wide and shining with wonder at the sight, and she laughed when Nooroo flickered his wings in greeting.

"Gabriel," said Nathalie.

Nooroo's little voice fluttered with a polite, "Good morning, Master. Good morning, My Lady."

Anaïs babbled.

"And good morning, little one. Happy, still?"

"Nooroo," Gabriel addressed, his voice stern as it tended to be when he spoke to the kwami. Nooroo stilled the flutter of his wings and waited patiently for the rest of his holder's words. "I wouldn't have expected this."

He tilted his head. "Expected what, Master?"

"Expected you to propose a solution so...radical," answered Gabriel.

"I don't know if it is so radical," the kwami replied, a small smile on his face. "I give where there is need, and you all were in need of a solution."

Nathalie stepped forward and cupped the kwami in her palms. He looked over his wings to peer kindly at her face. "How do we thank you for everything? All of your help and guidance?"

"You need not repay me. Consider it an act of generosity."

Two more bursts of light flared in the living room, exciting the baby, and revealing Tikki and Plagg by their holder's heads. The pair of kwamis appeared rather somber, but soon fell into small fits of amusement as Marinette and Adrien reached for them and pulled them close to their chests.

"So you told them?" Plagg said.

Adrien nodded. "We told them."

"And do they think it's as stupid as I do?"

"You say that, but you won't admit you'll miss me to pieces."

The black cat broke free of Adrien's hand and hissed, "Oh, well, of course I will! Do I really need to say it?" His narrow green eyes flicked to Gabriel and Nathalie. "What I will never admit is that I will miss _them_ too. You hear me? I _won't_ admit it."

"I know you won't." Tearfully, Adrien chuckled. He pulled a wedge of cheese from his pocket and gave it over. "Don't worry. They know you love them."

Tikki nuzzled Marinette's cheek, "Since you still have some things you need to accomplish as Ladybug before you return us to the temple, make sure you work _really_ slowly."

Marinette smiled. "I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise. You're not going anywhere just yet."

Surrounded by the other kwamis, Nathalie decided to summon Duusu among them, who after appearing in her own blaze of light, was quiet for a moment as she assessed the emotions of everybody else in the room. Nathalie took a seat beside her husband, smoothing out her daughter's yellow dress and thinking about everything that was about to change just to save her from herself. For a moment, she wished Anaïs was like Duusu, so she could feel just how immensely she was loved and just how desperately everyone wanted her to live a life that was long and happy and free. Freer than anyone else in the room had ever been. Freer than they were now.

She thought about all the prices they'd thought too great to pay, and how this one was supposedly the right one.

She thought about how ironic it was to be so sad when just weeks ago, she wanted nothing to do with a miraculous at all. And to an extent, it did feel wrong to wear one now, knowing so well what it could take away from her.

Duusu drew near, pink eyes watching them mildly. She put a little blue hand upon Anaïs's hat and said, "It's okay," she said, "To feel all those confusing things. You believe you'll do right by her, yes?"

"Oh Lord, we hope," Gabriel rumbled. "And despite all of this, we still don't know exactly how."

"Most people will never know. In the meantime, don't worry about us." Duusu's mouth lifted into a grin. "If Paris is in need again, the miraculous will find their way back. This will probably be the end, or it might just be the end for now."

* * *

Nathalie's feet rocked back and forth against the cool hardwood, following the tilting motion of the chair she'd pulled to the center of the room. That night, the moon was a yellow-silver gibbous floating across a starless charcoal sky from one dark horizon to the other, and now its light spilled through the windows to illuminate the space just enough to make out the pink on the walls, but not quite enough to make out the patch above the crib where the wall had been _almost_ perfectly fixed.

The air conditioning was cool enough that Nathalie had grabbed her robe on the way out of her bedroom and sat wrapped in it, sleeves pulled up to the knuckles. She was shivering, though it wasn't quite cold enough for that. She'd meant to feed the baby and go back to bed, but something had seized her in the doorway and coaxed her in. Maybe the moonlight, bright enough to have to squint against, or the dense silence of the house, or some words clinging to the back of her throat like apple skin, words that couldn't be French or English or German or Russian because she couldn't make them out. She just knew they were there.

Anaïs had long fallen asleep. She laid there with her arms stretched out to her side. If Nathalie leaned forward far enough, she could watch the rhythm of her little breaths.

_Someday, our bones will mend,  
__Someday, we'll breathe again…_

Nathalie's toes grazed to a stop as the motion of the rocking chair eased into stillness. She could sense the way gravity had not quite had its way, how she balanced on the rockers, how there was a force holding on somewhere behind her. Turning her head to the left, Nathalie caught sight of his wedding ring glinting under the summery silver while his fingers fastened around the back of the chair, having brought her gently to a stop.

His head ducked against hers, cheek pressed above her ear, where once, a long time ago, a streak of vibrant red had been dyed into her hair. Nathalie sighed, leaning back against him, taking his hands and placing them over the bare skin between her collarbones. He kissed her lightly. He held her tight.

His voice was thick with sleep when he mumbled, "You smell like lemon."

Nathalie smiled, reaching back to run her fingers down the side of his face. He sprinkled kisses across the palm of her hand before slowly pulling away. Nathalie watched him grab an unopened box of diapers from the closet and plant it beside the chair. He took a seat. He placed his hand in her lap and she grabbed it. They fixed their eyes forward on the baby.

Anaïs slept soundly.

To and fro, the movement of the rocking chair began again, creating tiny creaks of sound Nathalie barely noticed. There was the muffled rumble of a car passing along the road outside and the wave of headlights to briefly drown out the moon's shine. It was really so bright in the room. Maybe she should have gotten up to close the curtains, but as the thought occurred to her, she felt suddenly very heavy. Like she had turned to stone. It could have been exhaustion setting in, the urge to return to her own bed, but though her lashes drooped over her eyes, she knew that sleeping was out of the question.

She was paralyzed. Eyes locked on her child. Words tangled amongst themselves in some weighty mass at the back of her mouth, a weight like which was bound to make a person collapse into herself. Nathalie felt like she was getting denser, like bones were breaking to fit her into a tighter space, where there was no room for second guesses or words left unsaid.

Gabriel squeezed her fingers as she began to cry, remaining motionless, maintaining the rock of the chair, silently allowing the first tears to trail down her cheeks, fall from her jawline, land in the plush fabric of her sleeve. She swallowed painfully, attempting to force down the confession which was being crushed out of her, but she exhaled sharply and released a bitter sob instead.

"Look at me." She did. She pivoted her head, and the light reflected off his eyes to reveal the shine of tears much like her own. He reached to sweep the hair over the top of her head, opening up the space around her eyes and wiped the tear tracks from her skin with two faint brushes of his thumb.

"I don't want to lie to her, " Nathalie revealed. As the words escaped, the weight of her breath lightened just slightly, just enough for her to notice, to feel the relief. She sat higher than Gabriel, and so she was looking down at him while she said it. She didn't like the distance so she ducked her head lower and set her forehead against his. "I can't lie to her."

This was a familiar scene. She'd supposed it was a conversation they would have had a lot, the ebb and flow of doubt dictating the many years before they would have planned to reveal the truth of their troubled histories. But now there was an astringency deeper and sourer than they would have ever known. Nathalie could taste it, sharp on her tongue and cold on her lips, a texture and a temperature to a burden that was already agonizing to bear.

The chair scraped against the floor as it spun to face him, and she placed her hands at the back of his neck. "I know it's absurd. I know I should want to hide everything from her. There was so much suffering and anguish inside her, and when I held her...when I held her against me at the end, I could feel it all melt away. She was free." Nathalie closed her eyes, pausing to control herself as the tears continued. "She was free, and wanting to tell her everything is like...wanting to put her back into that prison."

"Nathalie," Gabriel whispered, "don't say that."

"I don't want to put her back there. I want her to be free and happy." She sighed as Gabriel kissed a tear off her face. "But I want my baby to know who I am."

"Oh, my love," he said, lips hovering against her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." They both steadily rose to their feet. Gabriel pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking the back of her head. "Don't be sorry, I understand."

"But after what _you_ saw. As if everything else wasn't enough. What she told you and Adrien, but it all being her fault, about not wanting to exist, about wishing she'd never been told - we should grant her that wish. We should want it ourselves, shouldn't we?" She gasped, dropping her face against his shoulder. "Gabriel, you were so scared. You were so scared of telling her and having her think of us as villains. I thought it would have been worse to lie, but you were right. She _did_ think of us as villains, she thought she had to _fix_ everything."

Gabriel's throat trembled as he spoke his reply in a low, calm tone. "But _we_ will this time. _We_ will, Nathalie."

She raised her eyes to his, staring in astoundment. "You believe that?"

"Don't you?" He slid his hands around her waist and leaned close, until he was so close, she could just see the color of his eyes.

Nathalie inhaled, letting the warmth of his touch soak through her whole body, intently narrowing her focus on the guilt and apprehension that had overrun her soul so she could breathe it out. It took a few breaths, but the tears ceased their flow and her chest loosened up and she glanced towards Anaïs, her child, her love, who'd been woken by the urgent words and watched the gradual twirl of the mobile far over her head.

"Marinette's decision gave me hope," she said. Gabriel's visage softened, and she knew at once that he agreed with her statement. "I could have gone the next several years determined but terrified of every word I could say to her. A million things could have changed for us the moment we knew who it had been behind the Sorcerer's mask, or a million things could have stayed the same, and maybe we wouldn't have known until it was already too late, but this." She paused, shaking her head in disbelief. "This choice, this sacrifice, it's a gift. It's certainty. It's security."

"I wouldn't have imagined Marinette would make such a choice," murmured Gabriel. "I know she thinks it selfish, but I feel like I need to repay her."

"An internship, perhaps?"

"Very likely."

Nathalie chuckled. Gabriel released her as she stepped away and approached the side of the crib, placing a hand on the railing to look into the face of her daughter, whose mouth stretched into a yawn and whose eyes drifted shut once again. There was a warmth in Nathalie's heart that she hadn't felt in a couple weeks. "So much of me is who I was back then, that villain I want her to be better than, that _I_ want to be better than every day. She's always deserved to know. And miraculously, I feel like she can."

"Then she will."

"Are you sure?"

He stood behind her with a hand on her back, the other reaching over to clasp hers tenderly. "I'm scared," he admitted, a shadow in his voice, a memory on his mind she was there to see and to feel seeping between her fingers. "But if this is the path you want to walk, then I'll be walking with you."

"Gabriel," she sighed.

"Yes?"

"But is it truly what _you_ want?"

"More than anything," he murmured, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades, "I want to be for my family what I failed to be for them long ago. Faithful, and courageous, and honest. I want to do right by you, and Adrien, and _her_." He kissed Nathalie's shoulder. "And I believe I can."

With a lighter heart, Nathalie reached into the crib to pull Anaïs into her arms. After planting a soft kiss on the baby's forehead, she and Gabriel departed the nursery, treading lightly down the hallway back to their own bedroom, where the bedsheets had been tossed away and lay ready to consume them again. Gabriel settled in first, and Nathalie right beside him, resting snugly against his side with the baby on her chest, head tucked underneath her chin.

After they whispered their "I love you"s into the dark, after Nathalie had lost count of the baby's steady breaths, after she'd let her eyes fall closed and the world sink into the distant, unimportant background that came of the space outside of peaceful sleep, she heard Gabriel's voice float cleanly through the quiet to say, "She never knew it, but she saved us."

The corners of Nathalie's lips twitched into a smile. She turned her head into Gabriel's neck with a tranquil sigh.

And whispered, "She'll know it."

**THE END**

* * *

**Thank you for joining me on this journey. It's been over a year since I first published this series, and I am incredibly grateful to have made it this far. I hope you enjoyed this final chapter. I appreciate you taking the time to read. **

**If you want to find more of my Gabenath works, you can visit my Ao3 page, ReminiscentLullaby.**

**Thank you, love you,**

**~Lullaby**


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